[insert music from "The Twilight Zone"]

The real picture of the day represents a story of fear, desperation, discomfort, aggravation, stubborness, self-control, self-determination. It's the oldest of stories...the most horrifying of stories. It is, the story of "The Attack of the Potty."

The thing sits there, defining everyone's life, controlling their lives. The mother cleans it on a regular basis with a kind of fervent passion. Every so often, the father will check it and groan with a kind of inspired agony. He'll then turn to an amazing instrument that's kept in a special place next to the Potty and feverishly pound away at the water in the bowl and flush and strain and flush, until at last he steps away triumphantly, lectures the boys and goes to eat dinner. Sometimes, important-looking people come to work on it, bringing with them heavy boxes of more intruments. Money is exchanged. Always money. The father will sometimes groan with that same inspired agony following the exchange.

The Potty.

O' evil Potty,
Eater of independence
And swallower of time.

I...Marah...will never bow to such a thing. I am my own person, my own girl. I do not need any porcelain throne to claim me, because I have Princess diapers! I have all the proof of royalty that I need. Sure, the mother threatens to put them away. Sure she hides those Princess diapers...but I find them, I do.

I will win. I am...Marah.