I turned to my wife just now and asked her if she had a question for me. This is what she said in response as she headed to the bathroom, concern dragging her features into an expression of hateful sullenness.
Or was it insufferable gloom? I have trouble telling the difference.
She's back. Here's our talk.
"Did you poop?
"That fast? Was it diarrhea?"
"No. It was soft, though, like... (pause). Don't ask me about poops."
Then she went back to bed.
She makes a fair point, but I can't help myself. Love them poops.
Short Answer: I think that's enough for today.