Success!

A bloodcurdling howl erupts from inside the ladies' restroom. Sigh.
I push open the door and lean the upper half of my body inside.
"Is there an issue, ladies?"
Grunt. Grunt. Hissssss. Tiny pink and purple sneakered feet swing and flex spasmodically where they peep out from beneath the center stall door.
"Ladies? Does anyone require any assistance of any sort?"
The largest rumbling growl yet, then a wee and crystalline silvery voice trills, "My poop!" [delicate fairy giggle] "My poop! It's just so very large!"
Oh, boy. We've all been there, sister.
GRUNT.
Hmm. At this point I feel I shouldn't leave. After all, we've only had snack so far in the day and I didn't see anyone consuming an entire roast ostrich or anything else that might merit this level of strain. Medical attention may be necessary. Or, at the very least, a good motivational speech.*
"Mmmmmmmmmarrrrghhhhh......"
The faucet drips slowly. Steadily. I can hear Mr. Paul in the other room delivering instructions to the other children on how one properly comports oneself at recess. I should really get in there. I'm not even sure what time he wants us upstairs for---
"FINALLY!!! Whew! La, la, la, la....How the music can free her whenever it starts! And maybe, if the music is groovy...."
Flush.
The child has succeeded. And I admire her dedication to the week's material. We are to perform "Do You Believe In Magic" by The Lovin' Spoonful this Friday as part of our performance, and this young lady understands time is of the essence due to the holiday weekend. Jumping right back in to music rehearsal with no time so spare.
It was a good holiday weekend though. An excellent one. I received a retired bus driver jersey from my father - which I have yet to take off, did not go to the golf course- though I've rescheduled, witnessed Mr. Paul perform "This Is The Moment" from "Jekyll & Hyde" full out- as Jonathan Spivey accompanied him on keys, and accidentally participated in a police force ride-along.
I am also the proud new owner of the hollow shell of a tigress pillow. But I've got batting in my closet. I have batting in my closet for reasons involving abandoned elephants, a basement, and throw pillows which you may or may not be ready to hear more about. I'm gonna stuff her up and have Hannah whipstitch her shut across the crotch/stuffing hole.**
I must now learn some lines. There's a play about campfires and symbolic notebooks and re-hashing conversations for the zillionth time about a family troubled by jaundice and why soda is bad for you coming up shortly here in the RVA. It is preferred that I have the same exact things to say about it every night. And that I sit in the same exact places when I say them.
Whatever.

*I love "Austin Powers."
**I know.