This'll freak Pic out
. I indulge in a brace of Yakult after a bout of deatharea; usually as a result of one of Consuela's rare cooking occurrences. Post recovery, I delight in acquainting her of my return to normalcy, together with a full appraisal of stool girth, consistency, length, colour, ease of extraction, angle and grace of s-bend entry, splash dynamics and odour. Naturally, she's horrified with the description, which resembles an Olympic poo diving event - which I find amusing
.
Nevertheless, given she is bound to be my future 'Keeper of the Stool' after I suffer the inevitable stroke, I believe it is incombent upon her to become fully conversant with the changing medium. That, and the first thing the nurse will ask her when I'm rushed into Emergency is about the intimate details of my bowl history; of which I intend her to be a consummate expert on the subject when the time comes
.
Yes, I've got my Mango tree all picked out
.
