I was in Evie’s bathroom, bent over her tub, scrubbing, and somewhat successfully removing the dirt and glitter film that had developed over the past few weeks. Evie was perched next to me on the toilet, naked because that’s her favorite outfit, taking a poop. My phone was placed in my back pocket as it usually is. As I was cleaning, she plucked the phone out of my jeans and asked to watch E-I-E-I-O while she crapped. (E-I-E-I-O is a video of her singing along to Old McDonald Had a Farm during a hayride we were on at a nearby pumpkin patch). Thinking nothing of it, I scrolled through my gallery of images and videos, found E-I-E-I-O, and gave her the phone.
A minute later, I hear a plunk sound…followed immediately by an “uh oh.” No. That’s not what I think it was. But turning around and noticing her empty hands and the stunned look on her face, I knew what happened. Peering through her legs I saw my phone in the bowl, resting about a half inch under the poo water.
Dammit, I had to do it.
I removed Evie from the toilet and stood her on the floor next to me. I tried not to worry about the dingleberries that likely hung off her butt and were possibly dropping on the floor. I had to act fast. My phone was marinating in feces and every moment counted.
I thrust my hand down and grabbed hold of the silicone case, making sure to not touch any dollops of poo. Evie kept saying “Oh no. Poop. Phone.” Luckily, I don’t have a gag reflex to this kind of thing. But even if you’re like me and can handle bodily fluids all over the place, I still I don’t think ANYONE enjoys knowing the fact that something they place on their face has, at some point, sat in a murky puddle of shit.
I cleaned and sterilized my phone and its case the best I could. The moisture indicator on my phone remained lit for hours after, reminding me that poo water was likely still lurking in the crevasses somewhere. Every time I use my phone now, I’m going to wonder if I’m putting feces on my face.