After discussing whether or not the Arlington post office has set up a surveillance camera, Ben and I decided to make the monotonous task of checking the post office box more interesting. (It's usually my responsibility alone, but Ben will slog in if I insist.) We accomplish this by pretending to poop in the garbage can by the door. When it's my turn, I will swing the tall, rounded garbage receptacle away from the wall so he can easily see me from the car; When it's his turn, he'll do the same, and, oh, how we laugh. Then we scurry for the mail and exit the building before they can send in the FBI. (It's all very suspenseful.) If we're in a hurry or there are others about, we will just nod toward the can, and wink. This is also considered a "poop" since it's what's in our heart that counts.
One night, I did not pretend to poop because, frankly, I was too tired. I just shuffled in and out, all uninspired, without even a nod toward our can. When I returned to the car, Ben said a little disappointedly, "You didn't poop in the can tonight." I shrugged, saying, "Nah."
But, I felt pretty bad about my failure to do so. Life's not right when you can't laugh, poop, or laugh about poop, and I didn't like letting Ben down as a mother. So, I said, "I'm sorry. I'll do better next time." To which Ben replied, "That's okay, but you know, you should blog about this. That'd be funny. And if you were really brave, you could title it, *Shit*."
I'm not really brave.
"Scat" has a double meaning; and the next word seems to have been used in book titles lately, so I suppose it ain't too much of a shock. I've always wondered why God made the world as it is, an endless cycle of recycling? It was clever but sometimes we so harshly look down on the creatures, such as flies, that thrive on our recycling material. Then the recycling itself becomes a euphemism for just about anything goes wrong or is out of order, when in fact, it is "so right'!
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