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A lifestyle blog by Buffy Charlet on The Whole 9

Buffy Charlet grew up on a hippie commune and then fell in love with hip hop. From Teepee to Easy E, there’s really no explaining it. She’s been everything from a hand model to an editor at Hustler Magazine to a bartender. Now she’s just livin’ the dream, between shifts.

Ready for the Wipe

It wouldn’t be breaking news to tell you that I’ve never been much of a kid person. I’ve gone into detail about this trait of mine before. In short, children somehow simultaneously terrify and bore me. I didn’t know it was possible to feel these emotions conjunctly.

Children make it possible.

Whenever I’m around one (or god forbid more than one) I’m constantly paranoid that they’re going to ask me one of their trademark blunt questions.

Like, “why are your boobs so small for a grown-up?” Or, “why do you make less money than my 16- year-old brother?” Or, “will you hold my hand?”

I don’t know. They’re capable of anything.

Moreover, I find their lack of refined motor skills and limited vocabulary tedious.

But then my closest friends went and started having kids (the nerve) and I was horrified to find that I actually (gasp) kinda like the minis. And in some cases, a warm, fluttery feeling in my chest began to grow towards them…I’ve heard this feeling been called “love.”

How is this possible? The little gremlins, with their runny noses and sticky fingers wormed their way into my black, charred heart.

I recently got to see my favorite little girl. She makes the word adorable inadequate. I wish I could see her and be around her joy everyday. She’s beyond words scrumptiously loveable and more hilarious than I could ever dream of being.

As evidenced by our recent interaction in the bathroom. Yes, this is a bathroom story.

While hanging with her parents (and by “hanging” I mean drinking tequila), Most Adorable Girl, who I shall call MAG, came up and grabbed my hand.

“Buffy, have you seen our toilets?” She is 3 and a half years old.

“Why, yes, I have. They’re lovely,” which I followed with an awkward bow and a tip of the imaginary hat.

“Can I show you them again?” asked MAG.

“I would enjoy nothing more.”

She lead me to the bathroom, informing me to shut the door behind. I obediently obliged.

I was the perfect victim.

I thought maybe we’d be glossing on some make-up, putting bows in our hair; I was game for anything. Or so I thought.

MAG effortlessly wore a floor length, poofy dress. Just another Saturday. Even more effortlessly she pulled the dress above her head and walked over to the infamous toilet by which she lured me in. It was at that moment I realized we wouldn’t be doing any girlie activities.

“Oh, do you need to go to the bathroom?” I questioned.


“Oh, okay, I’ll just come back when you’re done.” Silly, silly me.

“No, I need your help.” In retrospect, what she really meant was, “No dipshit, get your ass over here and help me. I’m 3 and a half.”

“Ohhh. O-kay. You want me to hold up your dress?”


“Soooo, you want me to hand you the toilet paper?”

“Nope. I can get it.”

Confusion clouded my face. Perhaps she just wanted the company? I took this as my cue to start telling her a story.

Until she started grunting.

OH MAN. This was way more than I bargained for. So naturally I started to laugh. Duh. See, I’m never around children and adults don’t go number two infront of each other. Watching another human being poop was unchartered territory for me. I might as well have been walking on the moon.

Still unsure of why I was there, through masked chuckles I asked again:

“So MAG, what is it that you need me here for?”

“I need you to wipe my butt.”

No, no. Nonononononono. Nooooo. Seeeee, I don’t wipe butts. Nope, no butt wiping here. Honestly, I don’t even know how. No, this is not something that just comes naturally to women. Good gawd. And suddenly I’m reminded why children terrify me. At any point, they might ask you to wipe their butt.

So I do what comes natural – I laugh. Laugh so hard I’m crying. And sweating. Maybe even peeing. Water was leaking out of every one of my orifices. I wasn’t laughing at her, I was laughing at how ridiculously unsuited I was for this role that I was playing, this role of adult.

I am a failure as a grown-up; I saw it in her eyes. And instead of try, all I could do was laugh until I think even I was farting.

MAG calmly looks over at me, me the rolemodel of maturity and says:

“I think I need some privacy. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Translation: You think I really just wanted to show you the toilet? Jesus Christ, you’re really dumb for an adult. Now get outta here before you ruin my poop.

Sweet Jesus, I got kicked out of the bathroom by a 3 year old. I mean, what kind of a person do you have to be to be kicked out of the bathroom by a 3 year old? Don’t get me wrong, I was relieved. I was clearly not cut out for the job. What job I am cut out for though is going straight to her mom and telling her there was a butt that was going to be needing some wiping.

That and pouring myself another drink.

MAG’s Mom, being one of the most-supreme coolest chicks on the planet, cracked up. In a way though that meant, “You know, this totally happens every day.” Which of course I interpreted as, “I am a childless freak.”

When the dreaded “Buuuuuuffy” came from the bathroom, MAG’s Mom took the lead (gratitude rushing through my veins), but she told me I should come because when we walked in, MAG would be doing something particularly hilarious.

I mean, how cool is this mom?

I must admit, I was dying in anticipation, but still frightened that I was going to be asked to do anything related to poop.

As we opened the door, MAG was standing, dress over head, bent over, legs spread apart, bum facing us.

Ready for the wipe.

Which has become my new motto. I’m starting to love kids. As long as I don’t have to wipe their butts.

  1. We have missed you Buffy and hoped to meet you at our little TW9 VIP party last night (hopefully you got the invite?) and this email is one of the reasons why. While I didn’t pee my pants, I did laugh so hard I started crying. My daughter will be 3 on Christmas Eve and everything you said is so familiar.

    Having never thought I’d have a child (and honestly never wanted one), but now that I have one, it’s been amazing to find myself completely intrigued with my daughter and her bathroom shenigans (or dare I say “potty mouth”?!). Although blogs like this still win the prize, I laugh pretty damn hard when Willow says things like “Mommy. Sometimes the poo-poo wakes up and the pee-pee goes to sleep.”

    Life is good…and yes, I’m starting to love kids too. Even when I have to wipe their butts.

  2. LOL!!!! Oh Buffy I can so relate…being 41 with no children, not thinking I ever will have any, and not really having any burning desire to have any…I know those “uh-oh” thoughts! Kids love me though…it’s the strangest thing :) I have a niece whom I’ve met once (and love…she’s adorable) and a nephew I have yet to meet…maybe sometime next year if I can get back to MA.

  3. OMG Buffy! Now I’m definitely not having children! No butt-wiping lessons at casa dangerous ideas. I laughed long and loud, but through my gags and groans cold terror gripped my soul.

  4. I love reading your blog!! I need help too. Try wiping your butt with a thumb wrist brace thing. I thought I was limber…not that limber. Buuuufffyy!!!

  5. i’m in the bar business, and let me tell you, wiping a little kid’s hind is much easier than changing drunken regulars’ diapers every night.

  6. Lisa: You’re so awesome! I wish I could’ve been there. :( Family town…good times! (pass the booze). And Willow is such a beautiful name!

    Sorchae: Nieces and nephews are perfect right? I love loving them at a distance! :)

    Dangerous: Haaa! My feelings exactly.

    Ckay: Oh thank you! And haha, that’s hilarious! And sounds quite challenging!

    Poorgood: I was a bartender for 10 years and completely agree.

  7. I totally didn’t like children until recently either, and even now it’s still dicey. I babysit my bosses daughter and sometimes she does really cute and sweet things that make me think, ‘I get it; kids are adorable,’ but then the second she gets mad because I won’t give her what I want, I revert back to my children-are-the-devil thoughts.

    Also, I maintain that your friends’ child is extra cute because she’s Asian; they are the most gorgeous children. And adults for that matter.

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