Scat Friday

Oh, but how I wish I meant the Ella Fitzgerald kind.

Nooooo, no. Alas, it is the lesser kind to which I refer today. The kind that stars in every – okay, not every, but nearly every story and joke uttered of late by the lil’ monkey.

See, last week the scatological dam broke. (I’m not blaming her little chums from the Southland, but the coincidence with our vacationing together does give one pause.) I was tucking her in to bed. We had a delightful time reviewing the hightlights of the day, singing lullabies, things of this nature. Then she’s done with me.

“Go get mama,” she barks, with an unsettling urgency. I do so. We both wait breathlessly to hear the pronouncement.

“Mama! Mama! Why did the poopy diaper cross the road?”

“I don’t know dear,” intones the beloved, gamely, “why did the poopy diaper cross the road?”

“To get to the other poopy diaper!” Tee hee hee hee, burbles the monkey, thinking to herself, I’m sure, “Man, that was funny!”

The next day she was working other classic comedic structures.

“Did you hear the one about the poopy?” she asks me, utterly out of the blue.

“No, dear, I did not.” I try hard not to phone in my lines.

“It combined with pee and became diahhrea!” Woo, I totally did not see that coming.

Where in the Sam Hill does she get this stuff. I truly believe she makes it up. Doctor of Scatology meets Henny Youngman.

The next day she began experimenting with narrative structures. Oh, except with the same featured protagonist.

“Once upon a time there was a poopy,” she began. I could keep going and fill out the story, but I think you get the point.

Then she lured us with an angle she knows is effective: demonstrating fantabulous new vocabulary.

“Mama? I have to tell you a really funny word.” Watch out, though. It’s not exactly a word, per se.

“Once I was mad, and then I farted out A BIG POO!”

Warned you. Not a word.

By now she has featured poo in just about every narrative and comedic delivery mechanism I’m aware of. No, wait, not a sonnet. And not haiku. Though I fear that’s around the corner.

I wish I knew when the end of this phase will be, since it’s not anywhere in sight. All’s I know is, if a talent agent casting for The Aristocrats: Part Deux calls, I am sooo telling them she’s busy.