You never know...So check!

Does life emulate art or does art emulate life? This is an age old question, which never seems to be given the time and attention it needs to be answered.

To fully understand and ponder this question, let me take you back to the front room of my mother’s house. I am 14 or 16 or 18, it really does not matter for this story, but being someone who always tells the truth and meticulously ensures that every detail is correct, I want to be as factual as possible.

As I was saying, I was sitting in the front room of my mother’s house when I heard her scream out in agony or possibly disgust; I am still not sure which. Being a good son, unlike my two brothers, I rushed into the dining room to find my mother washing out her mouth in a vigorous fashion.

She explained to me that she was cleaning the table and thought someone had spilled lemonade, but was not sure, so she decided to taste it. "It," which is never a good way to end a sentence, turned out not to be lemonade, but was, in fact, a squirt of cat pee.

Yes, she of her own free will and choice had tasted cat pee. I can’t really remember what happened next, although it did include a fit of hysterical laughter on my part and some rolling around on the floor, which only made her more mad or upset.

You would think that simply smelling the pee would have been enough to deduce that this was not lemonade, but who am I to judge. In fact, I would be a horrible judge, as two of my lifelong goals are (1) never to ingest pee of any kind, especially that of a cat and (2) never to ingest fecal matter of any kind, but more on that to come.

Fast forward to my house. As a family, we are sitting down to watch Baby Mama, the Tina Fey flick about having kids. As the movie rolled on, we watched as Tina Fey’s movie sister walked up to her kid, grabbed his hand and said, “Is that chocolate or poopy, chocolate or poopy?” Then to see which it really was, she licked his arm and said, “ohhh, its chocolate.”

Tina Fey stood in shock and asked her sister, “What would you have done if that were poop?” No answer, was given, but I am sure each one of us could deduce the horror we would have felt if that had really been poop.

Some are more brave. My mom, for example, she had an answer. She tasted cat pee and spent two hours trying to get the taste out of her mouth. She was not afraid, she tasted that pee and lived to tell about it (I know, again with the "it").

Fast forward (or rewind at this point) to my house last night and I am sweeping up what looks to be chocolate. But with a vast array of knowledge on this subject, I asked Holly to come and inspect it closer. She bends down, touches it and, you guessed it, it’s #2. This #2 had just fallen out of Cali’s diaper. It was small and round and hard and looked just like a Hershey’s Kiss, but instead it was a Hershey Squirt.

“Were you going to taste that?” I screamed. “Were you?”

She never answered. I think somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she was thinking about tasting it and was so horrified about that fact that she can’t admit it at this point.

There was a lot riding on her decision to taste or not to taste. On one hand, you may get a wonderful taste of chocolate, which is always pleasant; on the other hand, you may be labeled for life as the woman who voluntarily tasted poo.

That decision is really not worth the risk. She could have lost everything. That could have possibly been the last time we ever would have kissed….oh, who am I kidding, we don’t have five kids because we hate kissing.

At the end of it all, I am still unsure if it is art or life that is inspiring the other, but regardless, be careful out there, you never know where something has been before you eat it….(I know, "it" is a terrible way to end a story, but give me a break, it’s the Holidays.)