I didn’t expect to be writing about this topic any time soon, but that’s the thing about shit… it can surprise you.

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Recently, my son’s weapons grade bowels struck again and gave me a newfound appreciation for the wonder of diapers. Obviously something has to be done to keep little ones from literally soiling everything everywhere with a dedication rivaling the postal service. But, after nearly two years of diapers, I’ve found myself genuinely appreciating them as a vital tool in a parent’s fight for sanity (Sanitary?).

Diapers are one of those constantly improving products, yet I’ve never heard of anyone who actually works in diaper development. Who are these secret refiners of the disposable shit-catcher? Do they work underground? Is there a bunker somewhere filled with diarrhea plagued toddlers and a haggard group of lab-coated scientists? Seal teams are publicity whores by comparison.

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My television keeps showing me events of awards and accomplishment, causing me to reflect on the state of my life. The Olympics just ended, and the Academy Awards were this evening, both offering celebrations of personal achievement and success against the odds. And I’m here to say that nothing puts a finer point on what I haven’t accomplished than getting shit on during the Oscars.

Now, I don’t mean chewed up by the Hollywood system and left unappreciated while someone stands and accepts a coveted statue.

I mean actually shit on. By a person. While trying to watch the awards.

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