Conversations With A Three-year-old, Part 6Serge Bielanko
Me: 40, in the loo, living the dream.
Violet: 3, outside the loo, talking. A lot.
Outside a closed washroom/bathroom door. Some dog food dishes are on the floor. A water bowl. Nothing fancy.
(Camera shoots down from the ceiling light vantage to see the linoleum floor of a hall. There is a closed door, to a closet or a washroom. There is no one visible … yet.)
Violet: (from a distant room) Daaaaddy! Daaaaaaaaddy where are you?!
Me: (in the loo, in the act of nature, I hear the voice. I do not answer. I can’t find any freakin’ peace anywhere!)
Violet: (closer now, pitter-patter footsteps approach) Dadddy! Are you in the baffwoom, Daddy?
Me: (clearing throat) Ahem. Yes, baby, daddy’s in the loo. I’ll be out in a moment, okay?
Violet: (silence. and then…) Daddy dat’s not a loo dat’s the baffroom! (giggles)
Me: Ummm, ….okay, you’re right. I was using the British term, I guess.They call it a loo and I like that term because it’s seems less harsh, you know? It makes the whole situation seem a little classier, I guess.
Violet: (turning the doorknob in silence, like a damn horror movie)
Me: I’ll be out in a second, Violet, okay? Daddy is in the bathroom to fix something in here.
Violet: Daddy? (turning the knob hard and fast. Why?!!)
Violet: Are you pooping?
Me: Well, uhmmmm. I might be trying to, but, you know…
Violet: (shrill shriek as the doorknob stops jolting) DADDY’S POOPING! Gigglegigglegigglegiggle!
Me: Hey Violet, why don’t you go into the playroom and when I come out I’ll come find you, okay? (I’m sweating now. Bullets. Big fat sweat bullets. I can’t go like this.)
Violet: Okay, daddy, you’re pooping.
Me: (silent. silence from the other side too. I let out a lame sigh.)
(The doorknob goes beserk again!)
Me: Violet! What are you doing? Go in the playroom, I am almost done!
Violet: Hey dad, I got a dinosaur on a dragon!
Me: Oh yeah, that’s great, you can show me in a minute, alright?
(she’s jamming the damn doorknob now and I have half a mind to unlock it, let the trauma of actual entry keep her away from here for the rest of my life.)
Violet: Dad! Hey dad! The dragon is biting the dinosaur and der flying!
Me: I’m coming out.
(I clean up. I’m in the polling booth but I haven’t even voted. Yet this is worse.)
(I open the door)
Violet: Hi, Daddy. Did you have a good poop?
Me: Yeah, baby. The best.
Violet: Can I have some ice-cube wooder daddy?
Me: Yeah. Of course you can. C’mon kid.
(FADE IN MUSIC. Woody Allen stuff, clarinets from the 30’s and all. Camera pans backward, out the back door and rushes backwards into the sky leaving the house and the yard below until it is just a miniature scene far below. Fade to black.)
You can also find Serge on his personal blog, Thunder Pie.
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