The Lilliputians are a tiny yet dignified race. They are gentle and civilized and REAL. Yes. Real. Lilliputians are no figment of the imagination, my friend. They are roughly the height and circumference of your smallest finger. They enjoy good wine and tasty cuisine and all the finer things life has to offer a man of refined taste.
Jonathan Swift gives us a very detailed account of his travels to that fair people in his book Gulliver's Travels, which I am currently reading. The author of this detailed account, who is of average human size, was taken prisoner by the Lilliputians after a great storm washed him upon their shore.
I hope you will forgive me, dear reader, for addressing a rough subject matter once again.. I do realize yesterday's post had to do with the most coarse of our bodily functions. I must address such private concerns again. My vocation as a mother of young children requires I spend a great deal of time cleaning and contemplating bowel movements and the making of water.
Before reading the book, I had never had cause to wonder how the Lilliputians dealt with Gulliver's fecal matter.
Do YOU know how this dignified race disposed of their enormous prisoner's waste? Do you?
Why they wheeled it away in wheelbarrows. IN WHEELBARROWS! Can you IMAGINE?? Close your eyes for a moment and imagine, if you will, carting mound after heaping mound of human excrement away in a wheelbarrow. Careful not to hit a bump! Splish. Splash. You are taking bath. Of poo.
Yesterday I found myself at a park a mile from my home. I was with my children and husband. We had taken a delightful evening stroll.
The children were laughing a chasing one another. They were doing their best to outdo one another's hilarious quips and outrageous slap stick routines.
In an effort to win the humor competition, one of my children wet his/her pants on purpose. MY CHILD THOUGHT IT FUNNY TO PISS HIS/HER PANTS ON PURPOSE....AT THE PARK!!!
When the other children did laugh not WITH but AT the wet child, he/she began to cry.
He/she cried in earnest. Huge tears ran down his/her water making face.
"They are making fun of meeeee! I want to go home!"
"That's what you get for trying to be a clown," I said. "Now you can sit in your wet clothes until we are ready to go. Then you can walk home that way."
The din that ensued at that point was too much to bare. The child began whining and screaming and carrying on about wet pants and underwear and how life was not fair and how they wanted to home immediately. On and on the child cried. I only wished to make the wailing stop.
I had no desire to disturb the play of my other children so I came up with a brilliant solution.
"I have an idea!" I said. "I will RUN all the way home. I will grab you a fresh change of clothes and then I will RUN all the way back. It will be a fun game for all! You can time me!"
The Child Of The Urine brightened. He/She smiled and giggled.
So I ran. I sprinted. When my legs became tired and my lungs burned I reminded myself,
"Your child NEEDS YOU! He/she is wallowing in the misery of his/her pee pee pants! RUN,GIRL RUN!"
I completed my race in 15 minutes.
I WAS THE HERO OF THE DAY!
I celebrated by playing on the monkey bars with the fruit of my loins. (Girls have loins too, ya know. I think...)
At some future point in my life I will not be so concerned with bathroom habits of others. I confess I grow weary of the subject.
Like the imprisoned Gulliver and his tiny friends, I look forward to the day of my release from these duties.
