I often speak of my dignity and how my parents are constantly trying to compromise it. I feel this happens every time I’m on the changing table with my feet being lifted, exposing my bare, non-facial cheeks.

Usually, my pride sinks to a low level during these instances. But last night was different. I did something that, apparently, I should be quite proud of.

I was able to jettison a stream of waste matter from rear side that traveled a distance of 26.2 inches before landing on the floor. 26.6 inches. That’s well over two feet.

I know because my Dad measured it.

And for some odd reason, he keeps congratulating me on it.