A nurse just went into the bathroom and came out visibly shaken.
Hubby’s specimen extraordinaire has now been escorted out by security.
They are probably doing a postmortem now, even though it was still alive and launching its pan-to-nostrils offensives as it was being taken out.
I guess we can rest assured that it died fighting.
It sure as hell smelt that way.
It’s sure to be interred as peacefully as it came into the world.
The cleaner has been into the bathroom twice and walked out in disgust both times.
I think hubby’s stool sample is creating its own little code grey in there.
The doctor asked for a stool sample, so this morning my husband obliged.
He has been telling nurses for 90 minutes that it’s in the bathroom waiting for them.
I’ve been adding my own commentary to the conversations:
“It’s THIS BIG!”
“I just checked… it’s now three feet long.”
“I guess you’re used to people trying to give you crap.”
“I guess if they don’t take it away, we’ll have to go on undeterred.”
“Your request has been logged.”
“Well, that’s just shit.”
“You weren’t meant to fill the whole container, you know…”
“It just kept piling up like he’s a soft-serve machine or something.”
“Any drinks or fries with your order?”
“There’s a bear in there…”
It’s a gift.
You’re welcome.
Oh wait, I can use that, too.
An Aussie Maple Leaf, adrift on the wind... 