The good noos and the bad noos


The kid who lives in my house, I remember the time he came back from his school trip to Europe. He ran into my arms as soon as I was home from work.

“I have good noos and I have bad noos,” he said breathlessly. He sounded nasal and muffled, his head being buried in my shirt.

I was into serious cuddling when I screeched to a halt.

“Give me the bad noos first,” said I.

“We have ta go to Canadian Tire to get me a pair of noo sunglasses.”

“Why should that be bad noos and what happened to your sunglasses anyway?” I was beginning to lose control of the conversation.

“Aiy,  it broke when Kayla sat on it and Bee, it thereafter got pushed off the ledge where she and I were sittin’, right into the Mediterranean.” The kid is into adverbs lately, besides Kayla. Thereafter, heretofore, nevertheless, however and such like.

“Okay, shit happens I guess,” I was feeling expansive. He’s cute and I was cuddling him.

“Wait, there’s more….”

I paused in my ministrations,” More bad noos?”

“Horrible noos. I lost the camera,” he looked up and searched my face, which I struggled to keep as dead pan as possible,” It was right there when I had ta go take a crap.”

“There? Where was there?”

“On the table. You know that table top in front of the big mirror that they have in hostel rooms?

“Yeah, and…?”

“Well, it wasn’t there when I woke up next morning.”

“I see. You fell asleep while taking a crap and slept that way, hunched forward, your head resting on your knees the whole night….hmmm..”

“No, silly,”  he giggled,” I had my crap and came back to bed and slept and woke up the next morning and it wasn’t there. ”

On the kid’s crapping habits, I could write up a Phd. He gets the urge just when we are locking up the front door to go out and we’re running late. His system acts up at the damnedest places, where it is able to sense that there are no loos. I have grown a keen ability to sense this. He gradually grows quiet and his face takes on a tense, taut look. His eyes glaze over and he starts breathing heavily and perspiring. At this point, I ask him if he’s okay and he nods and gives me a nervous smile. Till he can’t take it any more and he blurts out with trembling lips,” I have ta go, Choochoo.” (The kid calls me Choochoo).

There are loos all over the world that the kid has graced with his generosity. Don’t be surprised if you find one on the Ayer’s Rock with a plaque on the door that says, “The kid was here”. Do you think I should write to the Guiness Book guys? Maybe they could open up a new category? Might as well make some money out of crapping.

Anyway, I was trying to get to the bottom of the disappearance of the camera. “Any chance those two might have been pulling a prank?” The kid had shared a room with his best buddies,  Alexis and Roger.

“They’d have returned it then, wouldn’t they?”

“True. And the good noos?” I waited for him to redeem himself.

“It was a good crap. You know how constipated I get sometimes.”

I tried my damnedest not to be ‘flushed’ with anger.

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