The Register of P

My walking buddies/confession/therapy group

The Statute of Limitations has run out.

Or so I assume.

It’s been thirty years.

Maybe I should explain…

Every morning, rain or shine (okay, preferably shine) my daughter and I go for our morning walk.

We’ve been doing it since grade eight (hers, not mine) and we have a wonderful ramble and always a great talk.

This morning, the air was noticeably cooler. A few leaves have changed colour and are falling.

Our favourite time of year.

I guess it brought out the urge to confess.

At least one of us was a bit more garrulous than usual…

Our route took us past the house we lived in when we first moved to our little town of Beaumont.

Where her eldest daughter’s classmate/friend now lives.

This is how the conversation went:

Granddaughter: This is where my friend lives!

Daughter: I wonder if they got the smell of pee out of the heat register.

Me: …….

Daughter: When I was three or four, you would wrap me in a towel after my bath and send me into my room to get my jammies on. I was too warm and comfy to go back into the bathroom and use the toilet, so I just stood over the heat register.

Me (you’ll just have to picture the mouth dropping open): !!!!!

Daughter: Yeah. I figured it would go along the pipes and down to the sewer like it does in the bathroom.

Me: I have no words.

Daughter: There’s a blog post for you!

Me (rubbing hands together gleefully): Heh. Heh. Heh.

P.S. When I told this story to Husby, he rolled his eyes. “And here I spent all that time trying to get the smell of cat pee out of the carpets from the former owners (they had four cats who liked to do their business behind the wet bar in the basement). Little did I know it was an ongoing and current problem.”

Emphasis on ‘going’.