The Log in the Lake (i.e. Poo in the Bathtub)

My last post got me thinking about New Jersey, and how our six month stay there was fraught with one terrible incident after the other. First there was the "H" on the wall incident, and then there was that time in the bathtub...

You see, my sister and I were forced to take baths together when we were little. How on Earth I was supposed to have room to play with all my bath toys when there was another human being getting all up in my bath business, I don't know. It would have been one thing if Lauren had sat there quietly and let me enjoy my soaking session, but this was far from the case.

One evening, I was sitting in the bath with my sister minding my own business, when I glanced down to see a giant log of poop floating my direction! Side note: Didn't Lauren know how counterproductive it is to poo in the water that is supposed to be cleaning you!? Anyway, it was straight out of a horror movie, where the innocent female runs away at top speed but somehow the bad guy, with a slow but purposeful gait, manages to keep up. Only I was the innocent female, and the bad guy was Lauren's poop! I was too small to climb out of the tub on my own accord, and thus, cornered, hysterically creamed bloody murder and averted my eyes from the brown monster. Just in the nick of time my dad rushed in and whisked me out of the tub, leaving my sister to revel in her accomplishment. Another side note: You would think after such a traumatic near-tragedy, I would have insisted on separate bath times from then on, but I, ever gracious, was nice enough to give her a second chance).

Besides, I got her back several years later, when I failed to warn her (and our entire swimming class, for that matter) that the boy sitting next to us pooped in the pool. Take that! Although at least the germs from his were probably neutralized by loads of chlorine.