Table Manners

My mom and I are at the kitchen table eating supper and talking when my sister rounds the corner and enters the kitchen. She walks in an odd, waddling manner. She's dressed in her bathrobe (thankfully closed, because leaving it open is something she is wont to do no matter how much my family complains about it), and she's holding something in her hand. I couldn't quite see what it was because the chairbacks on the other side of the table obscured my line of sight.

She has this goofy smirk on her face, as though she thinks what's she's doing is funny or clever in some way.My mom and I stop talking and look at her. My mom, on the side of the table nearer to Amy, sees what's she's holding and says, "Oh, geez! What are you doing?!"

Still unable to see, I crane my neck a bit. Amy sees this and decides to lift her hand so I can see the object she's holding: a pair on panties gripped cautiously between 2 fingers and held away from her body.

"I diarrhea'd in my pants," she states simply, holding her soiled underwear like a victory trophy.

"What?!" I exclaim. "Why are you showing us this?! That's nothing to brag about! We're trying to eat! Why would you think it's acceptable to show that to us?!"

Amy bursts out laughing at this point. Not because it was all a big joke, but because she thinks bringing her poopy underwear into the kitchen while I'm eating is hilarious.

"Get out of here, Amy!" my mom shouts.

"But what do I do?!" Amy shouts back, half-laughing.

"Go wash them!" My mom says.

"But it's fresh!"

"I know! That's why you should wash them now! Now get that out of here!"

"I don't want to touch it, though," Amy complains. "It's gross. I'm going to drop them here."

"No! You're not!" Mom orders.

Amy: "Well, do we have gloves at least?"

Mom: "No, just go wash them! Just get your underwear out of here!"

Amy: "Well, I need gloves! I'm not going--oh, wait. I know."

Amy then drops her underwear on the kitchen floor, open a drawer and pulls out some Saran wrap. She tears off a huge piece, then wraps it around her hand and proceeds to pick up her soiled underwear.

"Like my gloves, Mom?" She asks, still laughing. "I just made them."

"What is wrong with you?" My mom asks. Luckily, my family and I don't lose our appetites easily, and my mom and I finished eating.

Ten minutes later, I'm downstairs doing homework when I hear my sister shouting upstairs. I only catch a portion of it. To the tune of The Diarrhea Song, she sings:

"When you're driving in your car,
And you're heading to work.
Diarrhea, diarrhea!"

And she bursts out laughing. I go back to my homework, but a minute later, Amy comes running downstairs (still in her robe) and says:

"Did you hear that? I was singing. It went: 'when you're driving in your car, and you're heading to work'! HAHAHAHAHA! I MADE THAT UP JUST RIGHT NOW!"

"I know you did," I replied, "because it's not even closer to rhyming. Now get out of here."