Out of the Mouths of Babes

"Bud, would you like some douche?" Sis asked during bath this evening.

"Yeah, I don't have enough," he replied.

Let's go back a bit.

Sis was at the pediatrician's this week because of her fever. During the visit I mentioned that she hadn't been sleeping, but only because of nightmares (not pain). The doctor wanted to know what nightmares. There have been two: in one, Sis steps on a stick but it's a snake; in the other, she is sprayed by a stinky skunk.

The ped, our favorite Dr. L, latched onto the latter. Her own beloved dogs were once sprayed by a skunk. And, you see, she is Russian, where she says they have no skunks, so she only knew them as cute little creatures, not stinkpots. But she learned, quickly. It was a midnight nature break for the dogs and they came racing back into the house. She didn't know what had happened. So she called animal control . . . and they explained skunks and tomato juice. Except that didn't work.

And so they recommended douche. And it seems to have worked.

Now douche, for Sis, is some special miracle cleaning soap.

Like the bubbles in the tub tonight.

I did actual try to squelch the use of the word, which they pronounce (hysterically) as "dush." But mentioning that it is a word people don't use much because it is a special "vagina cleaner" seems to have given it extra cache instead of an ick factor.

So, if you hear either of them mention that they need some dush, just let it go.