Serial Poopers From I am a Dirty Immigrant

That reminds me of a neighbor back home who used to let her children use our yard as their personal toilet. Can you say similarities? We used to call the kids the serial poopers. I mean nothing was worse than baby poop that sat in the hot tropical sun for hours on end. There is nothing more refreshing than waking up in the morning, shining your shoes until the sun glittered off of them, walking out your door and stepping in some steaming crap. One morning, I woke up, opened my door, and there was one of the little heathens. He was squatting down in the middle of my walkway, his face twisted. Soft grunts escaped from his food-filled mouth. When I told the mother what he had done. She would pick the biggest leaf she could find to scoop up the mess, and as I watched in amazement, she tossed it into my rose bushes. That was fine except they were my bloody rose bushes. I had to smell baby poop every time I walked out my door

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s