In the interest of fairness . . .

I should tell you that the other times I've called Poison Control I've had no communication problems at all. They've been great.

The first time I ever called them was when Joey was about one and a half. This was back in the good old days when doulicia and I used to be next-door neighbors. She and her husband went away for the weekend, leaving me to take care of their cats. So, Joey and I are down in her dank, cobwebby, unfinished basement (if you live in Michigan, you'll be able to picture it perfectly). I'm scooping the poops out of the litter and it's taking forever because there are two cats and the pooper-scooper thing is extremely flimsy. So, one little poop at a time, I'm picking out the pieces. While I'm doing that, Joey is . . . Joey is . . . ohmigod! Joey is holding what appears to be an empty gallon-size milk jug, but it has DANGER and POISON handwritten all over it in huge capital letters with black marker. And an actual skull and crossbones drawn on, too! Joey is giggling and shaking this jug, as white droplets of something fly out of the jug and land all over him and the floor around him. It was almost comical, in a Bugs Bunnyish sort of way.

Doulicia hadn't left any contact information. Poison Control said the mysterious poisonous white liquid was probably one of two things. Either it was whitewash, or it was industrial-strength pesticide. Knowing doulicia, we put our money on the whitewash. The ER doctor determined that whatever it was, Joey had not ingested any of it.

It was whitewash, by the way. Whitewash, which looks just like milk, and was in a milk jug, and Doulicia didn't want anyone to drink it by mistake . . . .

Luckily, no one did.