I’ll admit it. I’ve been holding out on you, O Loyal Reader.
I’ve strived to keep it a secret for as long as I’ve been writing this fine publication, but I can no longer do so because the cat has clawed its way out of the bag.
My true identity has been discovered and reported on a highly reputable media outlet, and I feel it’s necessary for me to just come clean before the rumor mill spins out of control, granting itself flight like an impossibly heavy helicopter.
You see, I’m not just John Pseudonymous, mild-mannered stay-at-home father, Ph. D. student, and inspiration to kajillions.
I’m also a superhero.
I go by the superhero handle Elasto-Dad. You probably haven’t heard of my exploits as I’ve attempted to keep a low profile, privately using my powers for good in my own home, particularly in twin-wrangling scenarios.
However, just a few days ago, a team of paparazzi somehow tracked me down and snapped voyeuristic photos through the windows of my house. I was able to destroy all of these photos before any were leaked because, as you know, I am a ninja, and therefore my keen reflexes alerted me in time to ambush them and beat them with their own footwear.
“Okay,” my wife proclaimed, performing a one-woman evacuation of my son’s bedroom. “I’m not going to freak out, but there’s poop on the wall.”
I was proud of her–assuming, of course, that there was, in fact, poop on the wall–because she is our marriage’s sanitation enthusiast. In The Land Before Twinfants, our dwelling was cleaned regularly and often due to her impeccable attention to decontaminatory detail, a gene I never inherited. As a former fraternity house resident, I tend not to recognize that a household item or surface requires cleaning until I trip over a dust bunny attempting to hand me a rent check, as he has recently decided that if he’s going to stick around this long, it is only fair for him to kick in some money.
Rarely is one presented with such a stellar conversation starter as “There is poop on the wall.” I was riveted–I had so many questions. But first, I needed to make sure I heard her correctly, and so, with eyes alight in anticipation, I inquired, “There’s poop on the wall?”
“Yes. There is poop. On the wall.” Okay, so this was no joke. There was. In fact. Poop. On the wall. But where?
“Yes. In there.”