8/9/11

If you Sprinkle
By Fiona Lambert


Becky read the sign on her bathroom wall. She had placed it tactfully in front of the toilet. Now she stood in front of it, reading the words for what must have been the thousandth time. The first line was coloured a polite yellow that matched the cream wallpaper.

“If you sprinkle,” it read.

The sign had originally hung in her grandparent’s bathroom. When she was a little girl, she loved to read it whilst sat on the loo. When she was very young she didn't understand the message. As she grew up, however, and learnt about the difference between boys and girls, she understood the joke. It amused her, especially as a girl. She felt superior somehow, knowing she didn’t sprinkle. She remembered telling her mum, who listened to her, patiently nodding, pretending she had never realized.

Becky was at university when her granddad died and her grandma moved into a care home. Her mum and dad had to sell the house, along with a lifetime of memories. A few days before the sale was completed, Becky wandered around the quiet house. Memories of her childhood seeped through the walls and drifted along with the familiar scents. She stepped over stair three, knowing the boards creaked, and crept into the bedrooms. When she was little, Becky always slept over in the smallest bedroom. Even then it was called Aunty Ruth’s bedroom, a sign that children never really move out. Now the room was empty, the furniture packed up and moved on. The smell of lavender and mothballs still swirled around the space. The smell brought back memories of the sign. It was still in the bathroom, forgotten, neglected. Becky slipped it into her bag.

Five years later Becky moved in with Dave and she had insisted the sign was hung in their bathroom. She told him about the sign and her childhood memories. He had smiled warmly at her and hugged her whilst she read it out to him.

“Well I always like something to read in the bathroom,” he had said when she finished. She had laughed then kissed him deeply.

Now, six years on, she stood in front of the sign and read it again. A nervous smile crept onto her lips.


If you sprinkle,
When you tinkle,
Be a sweetie
And wipe the seatie

Well, she had tinkled, there was definitely some sprinkling, but she wasn't sure about the wiping. Feet firmly planted into the soft carpet, she stretched her arm out to grab the door handle and pull open the door.

“Honey,” she called into the bedroom. She felt her stomach twist with anticipation and more. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and listened for her husband’s reply. After a few seconds wait, she heard footsteps up the stairs. The top step creaked and she smiled. One day maybe her children will try creeping up the stairs by avoiding creaky floorboards.

“What's wrong, babe?” she heard Dave say as he approached. He appeared in the doorway. She smiled at him, slightly nervous.

“I think my water's just broke,” she said.


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Fiona Lambert is a full time engineer, part time wannabe writer who lives in Bristol. She has had flash fiction published at The Pygmy Giant and Microhorror.