Holy Hounds

Today Lady Pumpernickel was obsessed with her bowel movements and religion (in my experience both symptoms of old age). As part of my role as a Geriatric Au Pair Extraordinaire (or GAPE as I like to call myself) I am often called upon to wipe wrinkled old buttocks, which are not dissimilar to Elephant cabooses - minus the tail, obviously. In this particular case the wiping portion of the event (not one of my Top 40 moments of the day), involves Lady Pumpernickel hanging precariously onto a handrail whilst I throw large amounts of toilet paper in the general direction of her aged bottom. An intricate enough procedure generally, it is often further complicated by Lady P. turning around midway to stare at her deposits. Whilst it is not unusual for her High-Born Ladyship to study her faecal matter, today’s scrutiny had an accompanying commentary:

Her first deposit of the day was rated as “Oh, not much in there, a little moth eaten.” Of course at this odd prognosis, curiosity killed the cat, and I looked down…

[……….This is where I blacked out for a while, voluntary amnesia……….]

Having been thus scarred (lets not talk about it), on the second toilet trip of the day I averted my eyes skywards whilst wiping blindly. Catching sight of my obvious avoidance in the mirror, Lady Pumpernickel decided to ham it up a bit and uttered a rather loud, “Oooh!” followed by, “that was a good one. Yes, there are a few in there…ONE…TWO…THREE…” The final count drowned out by the rapid gurgle of a flushing toilet.

Lady Pumpernickel seemed to take my lack of participation in intricate excrement studies personally. I must have let slip about being a lapsed Catholic at some stage (as a newly appointed Godmother, must improve my heathen ways; intend to start with dollop of Catholic guilt and some Hail Mary’s forth with). Following the toilet incident she spent the remainder of the day making odd comments about Protestants and Catholics: She would only eat dinner if I didn’t bring Catholics and Protestants to the table (difficult as we would be sitting opposite each other) and she would only come upstairs with me if I wouldn’t get “Catholic about it.” At one stage she mistook a little Scotty dog in a television ad for the Pope. As the Pope dog was advertising deworming medication I feel the religious message may have been a touch ambiguous.

Shit and Holy Hounds, I need a pay rise.