Give Me Privacy…Or Give Me Death

In honor of Patrick Henry, I recount a story from a few days ago.

I was in the bathroom, minding my own goddam business, when Frannie busted in, banging the closed door wide open without knocking.

Frannie: “Hi, Momma! What are you doing?”

Me: *sigh*

Frannie, wrinkling her nose: “I don’t want to SMELL YOUR POOP, Mom!”

Me: “Then GET OUT! Sheesh.”

14 thoughts on “Give Me Privacy…Or Give Me Death

  1. Good grief. You’re living with the most concentrated form of curiosity in the universe, known as a “child,” and you haven’t yet learned the value of locking the door?

    :)

    David Stein

  2. classic! cannot wait to see how it goes when she discovers the joy of having a walkie-talkie in her hand in such a situation… and likely the mate to the walkie-talkie will be discreetly placed in your living room while you have company over.

  3. VG: excellent point. I am a big fan of those VEEEERY high locks, that can only be reached by tip-toes.

    However, we have one of those doorknob covers that is thwarting her well now. Otherwise she’d be out in the street naked before I could blink.

  4. Why is bowel evacuation so damned interesting to small people? My girlie can ignore me all day until I go into the bathroom or get on the phone. Sheesh indeed.

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