“Are you OK?” I called after her.
“Yes, Mom,” she replied in that “of-course-I’m-fine voice.
“Well you ran past me and nearly knocked me into the wall,” I said through the bathroom door.
“I just needed to go, Mom,” she said in return, a slight annoyance in her voice. “I can’t believe we’re talking about poop through the door,” she said finally.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I reassured her.
She then emerged from the bathroom and just looked at me. “It’s weird that you are standing here waiting for me.”
“I’m not waiting for you; I just wanted to know why you almost knocked me over coming in,” I told her. “If you had to go so bad, why didn’t you go at school?”
She looked at me like I had three heads. “That’s just wrong, Mom; I would never go at school.”
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Intrigued, I had to ask, “Why not?”
” It’s just gross; I would rather do it at home,” Shannon replied.
“I don’t get it: you don’t poop all day, even when you have to go? That just doesn’t sound healthy.”
“Oh my God, Mom,” she replied. “It’s not that big of a deal. I can’t go at school. I don’t know anyone who does.”
Now I was fascinated. “What are the bathrooms at school for then?” I asked sarcastically.
Just then, my oldest son, Ryan, came down the hall.
“Ry, you graduated from Shannon’s high school. Did you know that no one poops in the bathrooms?” I said, jokingly.
“Of course I know that, Mom,” he said matter-of-factly. “That would just be sick.”
Shannon gave me a knowingly glance and went into her room. Ryan continued down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom. And I stood there, alone in the hallway, shaking my head.
“I should really get my plumbing checked,” I thought to myself.