WARNING: This post is not going to go how you expect it.
Jack hates dinner. We don't know why. He hates not getting to choose his food, and usually puts up quite the drawn-out drama when confronted with a plate full of SOMEONE ELSE'S CHOICES. Last night he excused himself to go to the bathroom (which usually happens mid-meal) and was gone for quite awhile. I didn't notice how long he'd been gone because I was busy gobbling down my food before "that baby" could wake up and ruin my meal. Dan frowningly marched into the bathroom (amazingly, the door wasn't locked--sometimes that happens, to my amusement and Dan's fury) and I heard the three little words that no one wants to hear uttered in the bathroom...
"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!?!?" Dan asked loudly. Then, silence. I cringed, waiting for the inevitably gory details.
Apparently he had walked in on a semi-nude Jack, on his hands and knees, cleaning the toilet bowl with one of the hand towels. We still don't know what events led to this situation, but eventually everyone made it back to the table, and dinners were finally consumed. Some under duress.
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Could he have been packing food away in his cheeks, like a chipmunk, in order to spit into the toilet later? I used to do that and amazingly got away with it for quite some time before my parents (who normally missed nothing) caught on. Of course in order to clog the toilet he must have also been stuffing his pockets with it.
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