My phobia is the enema bag.
I grew up in the 50’s with a mother who had a fondness for giving enemas. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, God rest her soul, but she had this thing about giving me and my siblings enemas.
My mother wasn’t a cruel person, nope, she was loving and caring. But that damn enema bag turned her into a different person.
The big red bag hung on the inside of the bathroom door always ready for use. It was the largest enema bag I’d ever seen. You could add gallons of water to that thing. I don’t think they make enema bags that big anymore. If they do, they should be outlawed. It’s a cruel kind of punishment to use enema bags that are that big. If they wanna make enema bags that big, then use them on terrorists when they’re interrogated. Believe me, they’ll talk. When my mother used that big bag on us, we squealed like pigs.
“Big red” we used to call it. If I or my brother or sisters said we were even a bit not feeling well, mom would scream. “Get in the bathroom.”
If we just coughed, mom would grab “big red.”
“But mom. It’s just a cough.”
“Shut up and get in the bathroom.”
And when mom gave an enema…it wasn’t just your ordinary enema. Nope, her enemas were legendary. She would use the entire contents of “big read”.
Yup, enema bags...they’re my phobia.
I grew up in the 50’s with a mother who had a fondness for giving enemas. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, God rest her soul, but she had this thing about giving me and my siblings enemas.
My mother wasn’t a cruel person, nope, she was loving and caring. But that damn enema bag turned her into a different person.
The big red bag hung on the inside of the bathroom door always ready for use. It was the largest enema bag I’d ever seen. You could add gallons of water to that thing. I don’t think they make enema bags that big anymore. If they do, they should be outlawed. It’s a cruel kind of punishment to use enema bags that are that big. If they wanna make enema bags that big, then use them on terrorists when they’re interrogated. Believe me, they’ll talk. When my mother used that big bag on us, we squealed like pigs.
“Big red” we used to call it. If I or my brother or sisters said we were even a bit not feeling well, mom would scream. “Get in the bathroom.”
If we just coughed, mom would grab “big red.”
“But mom. It’s just a cough.”
“Shut up and get in the bathroom.”
And when mom gave an enema…it wasn’t just your ordinary enema. Nope, her enemas were legendary. She would use the entire contents of “big read”.
Yup, enema bags...they’re my phobia.
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