I drove all the way to Target to Christmas shop, put Dallas in a cart with a noisy wheel, picked out a couple thongs, entered the toy department, realized the sensation to poop was not leaving, thought about ditching the noisy cart of thongs, instead wheeled back to lingerie, returned the thongs to the sale rack, wheeled the garbage cart to the door, and hoofed it.

Dallas, meet your mama, the lady who always has to poop at the most inconvenient times.

And let me tell you, I was not happy (still with the residual headache). I was, but the front row seat to watch the self-pity take over was too compelling. Getting out of the parking lot took a lot of F words. Then, a cop on the freeway had us all doing 55, in a box. That could cause an accident. Just off the freeway, an empty Clorox bottle was swiftly taken by the wind (more white). Was I supposed to see it? Was that why I had to leave Target, so I could see that? When I arrived home, Lloyd, who I had left "napping" (Aaron home working), was sitting at the kitchen table coloring on a casserole dish.

Crap.

Thank you, journal, for making this funny.