If a Tiger Cub's mom poops on a Toto, is TR there to hear it?

My son joined the Cub Scouts this year--he's a Tiger Cub, which is some new-jack form of Cub Scout to get 6-year-olds involved. This weekend was the council jamboree so Cub Scout packs from all over the area descended upon Allamuchy State Park for a weekend of camping and camaraderie. We both had a great time. There were a lot of things I didn't enjoy about scouting, but this trip involved much of what I loved about scouting: fishing with worms we found between our campsite and the pond; launching apples 100 yards into that same pond using a home-made trebuchet; throwing rocks; sleeping in a warm sleeping bag outside in cold weather; making s'mores 'round a campfire of our construction while the older kids told stupid jokes and sang goofy songs; peeing in weather so cold that it the stream made steam. I also deeply enjoyed showing my son how to do camping-related stuff and we spent something like 36 hours together.

I didn't get to meet too many other fathers on the trip. Two of my son's friends went and they came with their mothers instead of their fathers, so the time we spent with other kids was typically spent with these ladies. They are super nice and good campers, but they're 100% moms with constant exhortations like "Don't run!" or "Don't touch each other" or "Stop tackling each other" or "Stop throwing rocks!" or "Don't pick up the salamanders!" or "Don't swing that stick!" And that was just what they said to me, they were much more restrictive on the kids.

I met two dads and both were extremely nice but not at all fratty, which is fine in this setting. No one brought any booze, at least that I noticed. I was surprised by the dad rocking fours, skinny sweats and a big beard--I thought about asking if he was holding but this didn't seem like the right venue, at least not for our first conversation. Luckily no one was a total drag.

That said, there were some oddball parents from other packs. Like the dad with the greasy mullet who couldn't close his mouth and stared gape-mouthed while kids zipped down the zip line. Or the obese braless mom with massive pendulous breast swinging freely beneath her Pack 66 shirt, over the back of which flowed her multicolored tresses of hair all the way down to her back, which greatly contrasted her abrupt bangs--all this was so distracting I barely noticed her tooth which could not be contained within her lips. Or all the dads rocking Pack 69 tshirts without an ounce of irony or frattitude. Or all the grown men in "Dress A" Boy Scout uniform shirts.

TR warned me about this. TR, one of my oldest and closest friends, whose boys are a little bit older than mine and thus can always forecast what I'm about to face as I enter a new stage in parenting. He went through something similar and his boys quickly lost interest in scouting.

While walking to the fishing pond, as my son was collecting worms, I saw that I missed two calls from TR. I was concerned that he had an emergency and needed my help--we text somewhat frequently but almost never talk on the phone--so I called him back. Sure enough, TR, one of my oldest and closest friends, whose boys are a little bit older than mine and who kindly and thoughtfully gives us all manner of hand-me-downs, was looking for a pair of cleats he had bequeathed to us too soon. His youngest was in need of these spikes and TR was looking to get them back. I told him that I was away but to come over in a few minutes, I would call zwoman and get him squared away.

All the necessary arrangements were made in a few minutes, zwoman hung the shoes on our front door so that TR could grab them quickly (he was running late to a soccer try-out), and I was back on my way to the fishing hole.

TR, one of my oldest and closest friends, whose boys are a little bit older than mine and thus more entrenched in the machine that is our local travel sports program, was stressed out and late. Unfortunately, I directed zwoman to the wrong set of spikes (zson's were in the closet to which I sent her, TR wanted the ones I put away in the basement as they are too big for zson this season). So when TR, one of my oldest and closest friends, who was up against a time deadline and didn't want to disappoint his youngest son, got to my front door, he was disappointed.

Because TR is one of my oldest and closest friends, we have a bit of an open door policy: ring the bell and come on in. Which he did.

Meanwhile, zwoman, the woman I truly love, was doing the thing I miss most while camping: using my Toto toilet. So when TR started calling "Hello? Hello?!" in what appeared to be our empty house, zwoman, the woman I truly love, freaked out. She knew it was TR; she knew she put the wrong cleats in the bag; she knew that she had to go talk to him; and she knew that he would know what he had interrupted as soon as she stood up (the toilet flushes automatically). Luckily she hadn't gotten down to brass tacks yet so she was able to pull herself together quickly and head downstairs. But she knew that he knew what she was up to. I'm not sure exactly how the conversation went, but TR left without the sneakers he was looking for. I don't think anyone made eye contact.

As a result of my inaccurate direction to the shoes in question, the woman I truly love and one of my oldest and closest friends shared a painfully awkward moment; my wife suffered poopus interruptus; my friend became even more stressed out; and my friend's son had to go to soccer tryouts in running shoes. I blame it on the Cub Scouts.