Stool Softeners – Part 3

I was smearing peanut butter on my egg bagel when the silence was broken by a poop update.  I’m not sure what prompted this because the last thing we were talking about was why our snowbird neighbor Fletch’s wife doesn’t want to live here all year long.  “Maybe because it’s going to be 112 today?” I asked.

“Maybe.  Oh, you know” she announced after a 10 second pause.  “Ever since I’ve been taking those stool softeners, my bm’s have been perfect.”

I stopped, my peanut butter-laden knife poised centimeters above my golden, toasty bagel, thinking maybe if I didn’t respond, she’d move on to another totally unrelated subject.  Wrong.

“I used to just push and strain and all that would come out was a little ball, like this,” she said, forming a malted-milk ball sized circle with her thumb and fingers.

So now I have peanut butter oozing onto the kitchen counter and visions of my mother pooping Whoppers and Milk Duds.

“You know,” she continued.  “When I was pregnant with you, it was so bad that I actually popped a… ummm, you know, a thingy.

I couldn’t help myself.  “Hernia?”  I asked.  “Hemorrhoid?”

“That’s it.  The second one.  I popped a hemorrhoid.  I still have it, I think.”

“Well, Mom,” I said with what I hoped was finality in my tone.  “I’m glad they help.”

“They really do.  Did you know that Frank got a new roof?”

And so it goes – I just love these mother and daughter chats.

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