where's the manual?

The other two children and I were debating the finer aesthetic points of Mr. Potato Head’s features when I heard a “Hey!” from down the hall. Then, after a moment, a louder and considerably more insistent, “Hey!” Assuming myself to be the likely intended audience I handed Trevor the red, oblong nose and yellow-rimmed spectacles and headed in the direction of the voice.
There on the loo sat an increasingly impatient little one who, when I looked at him questioningly for a moment, ordered [with some measure of annoyance at my slow heeding of the call], “Wipe my bottom!”
So I dutifully went to obey my orders and he duly bent over to assist in the operation. It was then that I realized the last time I was in charge of bottom-wiping was quite some time ago, and it was for a little girl. I was, in short, feeling a bit rusty in my bottom-wiping skills. But I did it and then asked if that was ok, not expecting a reply. He did, however, reply, to inform me that it was not, in fact, good enough. I tried again. Still not done correctly. And again. Finally I informed him that it was enough, and I had him hop up, pull-up, and re-zip.
But I suppose I must humbly admit that I am a failure at bottom-wiping . . .