Monday, August 30, 2010

gramma's toilet

Lol, now there's a title for a blogpost. Or a song. Or a band. Or anything else that is awesome.

Usually Thanksgiving and Christmas would be hosted at my grandparent's house. My entire family would gorge themselves on turkey, ham, pot roast, and every other holiday indulgence you can imagine. It was awesome. While we had a small family, there would still be maybe 10-12 of us, all at their place.

It was a big house, but strangely, the bathroom was right off the kitchen. Not like next door to the kitchen, the bathroom was IN THE KITCHEN. Like if you walked right out of the bathroom, you'd be staring at the kitchen sink. To get to the bathroom, you'd have to walk through the entire kitchen.

Anyway, we'd all be gettin' our holiday on, gathered 'round the table, when somebodies gotta go number 2. Nine times out of ten, it was ur boi. The best was when Aunt Edna couldn't hold off the festering brown urges until everybody was done eating.

She was shaking so violently while trying to polish off the last of the mashed potatoes on her plate.

We'd be eating the shit out of (no pun intended) some holiday meal, and you'd see Aunt Edna make a break for the powder room. Moaning, groaning, splashing, toilet-bowl-echoed farting, man, she would be blastin' dukes so hard it made us sweat.

Of course, my brother and I would be laughing so furiously, furiously making our parents furiously embarrassed.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd emerge as if nothing happened, soaked in sweat. Likewise, we'd continue eating like nothing happened, soaked in sweat.

Finally, the meal would end, and without skipping a beat, our family ritual would begin. You see, once everybody was done eating, and the small talk was getting stale, we'd put our plates on the counter and all congregate in the living room for some football. For we knew that what was going to happen next, nobody wanted to be in the near vicinity of the bathroom.

If you had half a beer left, you'd grab another cold one from the fridge. If you wanted more water, you'd fill your glass up before you claimed your seat. If you had to use the bathroom, you went quickly.

See, after each holiday meal, Gramma would trudge to the bathroom and engage in a war of bloody excretions. It was loud, obnoxious, probably painful, and easily made what Aunt Edna did, look like child's play. She wasn't done until Gramma'd hobble into the living room, with a a cloud of brownish steam following her. Every time, she'd find us just sitting in utter silence, watching the television.

Class was in session every holiday, as Gramma schooled Aunt Edna, and all of us, in the art of elimination - reminding us that this was GRAMMA'S TOILET.

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