Kids Are Turds by Jenny Schoberl

Author:Jenny Schoberl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2016-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

IF YOU HAVEN’T MANHANDLED BABY POOP, YOU HAVEN’T LIVED

Beep beep beep beep!

The boys ran circles around the big open space in our living room in front of the fireplace. Beep beep beep! Wooooo-wooooo! They were both … firetrucks? Ambulances? Asshole Police cruisers? Annoying. That’s what they were; annoying. I wondered if things might be different had my uterus produced female spawn instead of two penis wielders. I had been a dainty little girl, and any girl I might have would take after me, wouldn’t they? On second thought … if I had a girl who took after me, she would be even louder, more disgusting, and far more annoying than my boys combined!

I am not, never have been, and probably never will be a “girly girl.” Sure, I love makeup (I might even go as far as to say that I am having a clandestine affair with black eyeliner), but many days makeup is more of a necessity so I don’t scare small children than a love of mine. I don’t salivate over shoes or purses, and high fashion confuses the shit out of me. Really? You’d wear that? With that hair? But it looks like you have a penis on your head! I just don’t get it. To be honest, I don’t really want to. The day I think it’s fashionable to wear a penis on my head is the day I’m crapping my adult diapers and can’t eat solid foods. I’d probably be happy to even see a penis at that point.

This isn’t some new development or phase in my life where I’m swearing off shaving and bras, thereby making people feel uncomfortable in public because my wild, bra-less nips are staring at them. I’ve always been this way. My mom was so excited to have a little girl she could dress up in pink frilly vomit, and instead had a child who perfectly defines of the term tomboy—me. Oops. The majority of my youth was spent climbing trees and swimming in the lake with the neighborhood boys even though I was repeatedly reminded that fish pooped in that water. In the time that was left once I’d made mud pies and played with worms, I would refuse to brush my hair until my brother would start calling me Rats Nest! My absolute favorite gross and un-girly thing to do above all else really took the cake, though: belching. Thank you to Christine at my eleventh birthday party sleepover for teaching me the fine art of the mega-belch after chugging bottles of Surge. Those were the days!

Ah, let’s cut to the truth here: I still belch. And I’m damn good at it, too. I might not be able to climb trees in fear of breaking my back, and no way in hell am I swimming in a lake full of animal crap and creepy crawlies that could bite me or slither up into my hoo-ha, but I still feel totally awkward in dresses, and flip-flops are my go-to shoes.

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