So I'm on my way out for a walk the other day, and I stop in to tell Henry and his friend Sam that I am not, as it seems, leaving them all alone, as Scott is upstairs working. Henry replies, "Dad's here? Great, that means we can do whatever we want."
"And what, exactly, would that be?" I ask.
"Poop on the couch," Henry says. Needless to say, this cracks Sam's shit right up, and the two of them roll around on the floor, making jokes about couches and poop and pooping on couches as I locate my iPod and head out the door.
As Charlie the Dog drags me down the sidewalk, I turn on my third-favorite podcast, You Look Nice Today—the first and second being, respectively, The Sound of Young America and Jordan, Jesse Go!, although really, I don't like to rank my favorites, it's so crass—and the first thing I hear is guest John Hodgman saying, "Maybe I should come to your house and poop on your couch."
Couch-pooping jokes ensue. Meanwhile, I think deep thoughts about boys turning into men, men remaining boys, and that no matter what, the couch will always and forever remain the funniest furniture item upon which to imagine one's self pooping.