Potty Training, The College Years

January 19, 2012

in Blame The Sudafed, OldSchool

No. I haven’t given up hope for the Little Man yet. Although it is tempting. It’s only been 5 days. Not of actual potty training, mind you, just of practicing for potty training. Otherwise known as Potty De-Sensitization, wherein I attempt to cure the Little Man of his fear of the toilet by inducing him to bring his little bare behind into contact with it on a regular basis.

Wow. That actually sounded like a solid theory.

But between spending 20minutes every 3hours holding the Little Man’s pants hostage to get him to sit for 30 seconds of potty time, and the Little Miss’s decision to become a raver and thus start the party at 2am every night, I’m reminded more and more of my sophomore year of college….

The Year: 2002

The Location: An upperclass dorm on the outskirts of campus.

There were four of us living together in a small, two-bedroom apartment built entirely out of cinder blocks and paint the color of fresh bird shit. We had a living room, one and a half bath, and a kitchen just big enough to sit a state-of-the-art George Foreman grill on the most rickety of our kitchen chairs in the corner next to the table. Nothing fancy, and certainly not worth the rent the University was charging us for it. But the rent wasn’t due until the end of each semester, and with the glow of MTV bathing the walls 24/7 it gave off a cozy glow and just the barest hint of mildew in the Spring.

When we weren’t napping pulling all-nighters in the library or spending the night over at our boyfriend’s places, S & I shared one of the two rooms. Or, rather, I slept in there and she slept out in the living room, listening to her fiance’s slow & steady breathing over the telephone throughout the night. E & N shared the other room. They’d met at a transfers’ welcome shindig and had spent the rest of the semester bonding over make-up tips, hang-over cures, and cheerleading try-outs.

One memorable night, there was a bit of a commotion out in the common area. It seemed to quiet down after a few minutes, so I deemed it safe to go on out and make sure the TV had survived. As I wandered out of my room, S came barreling towards me. It was late, and the later it got the thicker her French accent became. But I was fairly certain she was trying to convince me not to take one more bare-footed step further.

“NO! NO! Don’t go out there!”

um. ok?

“The floor…there is PEE EVERYWHERE”

HUH?

Apparently, E & N had come back about an hour before from their latest mixer/barhop/moonshine and tucked themselves into bed at the surprisingly early hour of 2am. Except then E decided she needed to pee. Which, being a big girl, she got herself out of bed to do all on her own.

Except she kind of missed the bathroom.

And by kind of, I mean she strolled right past both bathrooms and their accompanying toilets, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Where she proceeded to go over to the George Foreman Grill, lift up the cover, pull down her pants, and relieve herself.

In case you aren’t familiar with this staple of dorm life, the G.F. Grill is an ingenious little device for grilling anything your heart can handle. And to facilitate this, it boasts a slanted surface designed to drain the grease from your food down into a convenient, albeit low-capacity, trough.

E filled the trough.

And then some.

Now, S may not have been in the country long but she was fairly certain, having seen none of us do this before, and having seen us use this device for cooking on numerous occasions, that this? Was not normal. Despite her best efforts, however, she could not induce the sleep-walking E to hold it long enough to get her to the loo. She did, however, manage to shove her pants back up her butt and propel her back into her room for the night once it was all over.

So, after we’d emptied the entirety of our collection of cleaning solutions onto the kitchen floor, S & I went to bed and tried to decide how, exactly, to break the news to E.

We shouldn’t have worried.

Turns out, she’s quite comfortable with her propensity for mistaking cooking implements and, apparently, $300 leather shoes for toilets. So much so that, after she finished thanking us for cleaning up, she plugged in the George Foreman and proceeded to make breakfast.

S&I, however? Had cereal.

{ 2 comments }

Megan - Best of Fates February 1, 2012 at 5:26 pm

Okay, that was hilarious until the end, when it turned horrifying!

Krystyn January 23, 2012 at 2:25 pm

Holy hilariousness…I’ve heard of guys doing this, but never once a girl! And, she seriously cooked herself breakfast on it? Ewww.

If little man is fighting you, I say hold off for a couple weeks and try again later:) Your sanity is worth it.

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