The Paper Run

“I don wanna look at your doodle,” said Miss3. She’d flung the bathroom door open and stumbled in, both hands covering her snapped shut eyes. “I don wanna look at your doodle.”

She bumped into the door. She tripped over Miss9’s shoes. Still she refused to open her eyes.

“Shut the door!” I called out to her.

“I don wanna look at your doodle!”

Which is odd because for the last two years I’ve been struggling to stop her looking at it whenever she happens in while I’m doing a pee.

“That’s fine. Just shut the door,” I told her.

Where do they come up with this stuff? She put a hand out and felt for the door, closing it before returning to the loo without, I’m fairly certain, opening an eye so much as a crack.

But soon there was a problem.

“I want toilet paper,” she told me. She’d run out. I could hear the empty roll flipping around the bar of the holder.

“Behind you, love,” I called from the shower. We keep a mountain out bum tickets within easy reach. We use a mountain of bum tickets any given week. For a brief moment I worried we’d actually run out, but I could see them over her shoulder.

“Tracey!” I called out. “Tracey! Can you help?”

Nothing. I figured she must have been busy with the other munchkins.

“I want toilet paper,” Miss3 repeated more urgency.

I had a head full of shampoo, but what’s a dad to do?

“Fine, I’ll just be a second,” I said.

“I don wanna look at your doodle! I don wanna look at your doodle!”

“Just keep your eyes shut then.”

I quickly ducked out and fitted a new roll, then slipped back into the shower recess to continue with my morning ritual.

“You’re good to go,” I told Miss3.

“Tank you, daddy,” she said.

She wiped: she pulled up her PJ’s: she left the bathroom door wide open when she walked out. Naturally. Parents shut doors, kids open them. It’s how doors work.

“The door!” I called out. “Shut the door!” But she was gone.

I considered ducking out of the shower a second time but figured I’d be done in half a minute so I’d just leave it.

But before I’d managed to finish washing off all the suds, Tracey ‘happened’ to walk past.

“Daddy!” she admonished me with a grin as she shut the door. “We don’t want to look at your doodle!”

Turns out she was hiding out of sight in the hallway the whole time, having a good old chuckle at my expense.

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