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My favorite type is Type 4, because it is smooth like lotion and Fabio. And I like that it's compared to both a sausage and a snake. Whoever came up with this scale, I'm assuming someone named Bristol (possibly Bristol Palin??), was very imaginative and poetic. It is, however, kind of disconcerting how many of them are compared to sausages. Lazy writing, or scary coincidence?
Naturally, I just had to have this scale as art in my bathroom. It was just kitchsy enough where I could pretend I was only framing it ironically, because I'm a hipster. In reality, of course, I just like poop jokes. Seriously, who doesn't? If you don't like poop jokes you're either lying or constipated.
Chris doth protested not enough, so I ordered a print from Walgreens and got my frame ready. I decided to reuse one of the decorative frames I'd bought for my wedding. The juxtaposition of the ornate frame and the images of shit was just too perfect.
The print cost me about 19 cents, and Walgreens informed me that it was ready for pickup about a half hour after I ordered it. So off we went.
"I'm gonna go look at...some stuff...over here," Chris said over his shoulder as we walked through the doors. And he bolted down the seasonal aisle.
"I'll go with you," I said. "Then we can pick up the print together."
"No, it's okay. Just go pick it up and come find me. I've gotta look at [mumbling]."
He paused to look at some made-in-China Easter baskets. "Um, no. You're not really looking at made-in-China Easter baskets. You're just too chicken to look the photo guy in the eyes because he probably knows we ordered a picture of a poop scale!" I said accusingly.
Then we commenced a loud whisper-fight in the middle of Walgreens.
Me: Well, just come with me. I'll do the talking.
Chris: No, this was your idea.
Me: Stop being so immature! You think you're an adult, but you're too afraid to go pick up a photo print? What is wrong with you?!
Chris: I'm immature? Me?
Chris: I'm not the one who wants to frame a poop scale in our bathroom.
Me: That's not immature. It's art. And I'm being mature because I already said I'd do the talking.
Chris: Then why do you need me to go up there with you?
Me: Because the guy's gonna know I ordered a print of the poop scale!
Chris: Yeah, he's probably the guy who printed it off. He will most definitely know.
Me: I'm ashamed.
Chris: You should be.
Me: You should be too for being immature. Just walk up there with me for God's sake.
Me: I'll just pretend I'm a med student who needed it for a school project. We're close to the medical college, so it's believable.
Chris: It's not like he's gonna ask you why you're printing it.
Me: Just come on.
He walked halfway to the photo counter with me, and as I told the guy my last name, Chris ducked into the nearest aisle. What a jerk. It may have been my imagination, but the photo counter guy seemed to have a certain twinkle in his eye, as if to say "I know you have photos of literal shit in your envelope, and you know too, and you know I know, and I know you know I know, etc. yet neither of us is acknowledging anything." We completed the transaction as normally and politely as ever. It was all business.
Chris conveniently reappeared as I was walking out the door.
Yes, our bathroom has carpet. No, we didn't choose it, obviously.
We I may like framed poop scales, but that carpet is just taking it too far.
Doesn't it look nice on our bathroom sink? Chillin' like a villain.
And now, our guests will never have to wonder what type of kids they're dropping off at the pool, because the answers are conveniently available to them as they wash their hands. Which they better be doing. We provide soap too.