I want to tell a story. Because otherwise I'll drivel about how bored of sickness I've become after running a fever for nearly a week. Ugh, I'm so useless when I'm sick.
Long ago in a place called Colorado Springs, Colorado...
Rae and I were in the basement. Ah, that basement was everything a basement should be. Stuck in the 70s with its barf-orange carpet, creaky bathroom and overflow of earwigs (EW, maybe nevermind that being a "should" with basements). Even the dinosaur computer belonged.
We were playing a game, a REALLY fun game. One of those kid games that just make you laugh so hard. I can't even explain why it appealed or why it was fun, but that's how a lot of childhood games are (and I love them like that).
I would run up to the couch with all the speed I could muster, and Rae would stick up her feet like a battering ram at the last minute and thrust them at my stomach. It felt like flying backwards! And a bit like being chopped in half, but not enough to make us stop. It was just too much fun...
About, oh I don't know, a hundred kicks later...
Something churned in my stomach. Ooooh, it wasn't good. I had to tell Rae the sad news: we should be done now. But for some reason I couldn't tell her from across the room in my safe landing zone. I had to go up to her, there at the couch, at the launching station.
I believe she didn't see the wooziness in my face. I am ...mostly... sure that she was focused only on my belly, aiming her uncannily strong legs with great precision.
I got out "Rae, I don't feel so--"
And then the feet met the stomach!
And the stomach gave in to the feet!
As the poo heated my pants, I thought: "What a day to wear overalls."
And Rae laughed. She cackled. She howled!
Once I was cleaned up I think I laughed a little, too. After all, poop is just so funny to kids. For whatever reason. I couldn't imagine why...