Holy Shit!

I don’t know if my family were particularly fastidious flushers, but I don’t think I saw another person’s shit until I was at least nine years old. Not only that, and likely because of the enormity of the event (not to mention the turd itself) I can remember exactly where I found it, which was the toilet of the Esso station at the corner of Martine and La Grande. It was perfectly formed and dwarfed anything I could even imagine coming from my tiny butt, and yet at that moment I realized this too must be part of growing up.