Is life better in flip flops?

I went for a walk this morning. 

There was a woman walking down the street, towards me, wearing a green T-shirt with white writing at the front. It took me a while to figure out what her T-shirt said because they used an unnecessarily complicated font. I must have stared at her chest for a bit too long because, when I looked up, she smiled at me shyly and she seemed quite uncomfortable.

The T-shirt read: “Life is better in flip flops”.

She was actually wearing flip flops and I was in my red tennis shoes, which made me question her quality of life in comparison to mine.  I smiled back.

There are two ways to look at it. On the one hand, her life must be better than mine because her T-shirt claims that “life is better in flip flops”. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure the woman was regretting her choice of footwear and was thinking about how much her life sucked at that moment. 

Because life is not better in flip flops when it’s cold and raining outside. Like today. 

What the hell, baby?!

(Spoiler alert: The true story you’re about to read contains a lot of poo and pee.)

Once upon a time, there was a married couple who went camping with their three children. On one of the mornings, pretty much like any other morning, the mother grabbed a cover, some wet wipes and a nappy in order to change their baby boy. Since the space in the campervan was limited, she always changed the boy on their bed. 

Her experienced nose could already tell that there was some poo in his nappy. Opening the nappy confirmed her suspicion. Not only was there poo inside, there was an unbelievable amount of poo. 

“Ooooh, baby!” cried the mother trying to wipe him clean. “What have you done? This is a horrific amount of poo!” Little did she know what horrors were yet to come.

Just as she was opening a clean nappy, more poo started coming out of the tiny human. She watched in shock as the liquidy poo spilled over the cover. 

“It was lucky I put this cover down first,” the mother thought. She cleaned the baby again and pulled out the soiled cover from underneath him, so that she could put a clean nappy on. 

At that exact moment, the baby started pooing again. This time, there was no cover underneath him, just a white sheet, which was now white no more. 

“Nooooo, baby!” screamed the mother. “That’s horrible!” 

As she struggled to move the baby to the other side of the bed without getting the rest of the sheet, the baby or herself covered in poo, she felt something warm on her leg. “What is this?” she jumped, surprised. 

What it was, was the baby peeing on the sheet, the bed, the mother and on himself. 

“Noooo!” the desperate mother screamed again. 

She wiped the baby yet again, about to put the clean nappy on, before taking the baby for a shower. 

She wasn’t quick enough, though. The baby was going for it again, peeing all over the place, and the mother found herself instinctively and unsuccessfully trying to stop the stream with some wet wipes. It only ended up with pee on her hands. 

The mother looked at the baby, depleted. Surrounded by a poopy nappy, poopy cover, poopy wet wipes and a poopy sheet (which also had pee on it now), the baby was lying there, smiling happily, kicking his chubby little legs, glistening with pee. 

The mother looked at the mayhem around her, at her own pee-covered legs and hands, and then back at her angel and said: “What the hell, baby? Not cool! Not cool at all.” 

But she was sure that the baby thought it was at least a little bit cool. 

The end. 

Meeting new people

The lady who cleans the toilets at our campsite surprised me when she recognised me as Molly’s mum. Apparently, we look the same.

I was even more surprised by the fact that the cleaning lady knew Molly’s name. Although, thinking about it and knowing my child, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.

As Molly simply put it: “I really like meeting new people.”

(Photo by Jay from two days ago. Wonderful blue skies at the moment, but that makes for a less dramatic photo.)

It’s an emergency!

A woman stormed into a store five minutes before closing, at 21:54, and the only thing she bought was a 12-pack. Of toilet paper. (I don’t even want to imagine the drama in her household before she ran to the store.)

And, no, I’m not talking about myself in third person (again). Although, I was also in the store, buying some last minute essentials: bread, eggs, Weißbier and ice-cream. Crazy Monday evening.