It made my beta-team laugh.
Here ya go!
From CRY UNCLE by Chrissy Olinger
The sound of mad giggling, frantic footfalls, and something hissing drew my eyes from the newspaper. Glancing up, I saw my two year old nephew, Colum, careening past wearing nothing but sparkling eyes and a wild grin. No-- strike that-- and a thumb-sized turd wedged firmly between his dimpled ass cheeks. Ok, "wearing" may not be the correct word. Behind him, closing fast, was my brother. He zoned in on his son wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled up over his nose. His hands were adorned with bright yellow cleaning gloves, and he was spraying disinfectant room freshener in wide, generous sweeps, like a mosquito fogger in July. A muttered curse escaped the confines of his hoodie. Colum banked off mom's hutch, set the china rattling, and headed for the doors to the terrace.
Jackie grabbed him on the fly. It was an amazing feat of reflexes and speed, but had not so much as a drop of dignity clinging to any part of it. And-- oh, dear-- speaking of clinging.
Jackie tucked Colum under one arm and stared at the hardwood floors, tossing the disinfectant to one side with a defeated groan. Collum gave a heroic kick, but his dad held on. The offending turd had escaped.
My feet tucked up underneath me on the couch of their own accord. Jackie glanced up, wriggling his chin against the hoodie fabric to release his mouth from its makeshift mask. “Nobody will be eating fudge around here for a good while, anyway."
Yeah. I can't unsee that.
© Chrissy Olinger