Uncategorized

“… or I’ll never let myself live this down.”

Disclaimer: Bathroom horror stories come in all shapes and colors if you catch my drift. This is a not-in-the-bathroom, bathroom horror story. If you get squeamish about this sorta thing, maybe you should skip this episode on a day in the life.

I pooped my pants. I don’t know what exactly happened, the last 30 minutes had been a blur of pain, tears, noxious smells and embarrassment that I cannot even begin to describe. I had suspicions of what had happened, but all I really knew was this. I was sprawled out on my bathroom floor, cleaning feces out of my underwear, and crying. Just sobbing. Luckily, I was home alone so no one had to know that I had messed myself, but the embarrassment was still too much to bear. “No one has to know. No one.” Or at least, that is what I told myself.  I was trying to reason out in my mind what had happened and the series of events that led me to this moment came flooding back.

My stomach was upset. It could have been something I ate, it could be my womanly time was about to arrive, it could have been… anything, really. I was especially gassy and was hoping that I would catch a break (or maybe even that I would break… the wind). If you get what I am saying. My mom taught me that when you are gassy, if you will hang upside down from the couch, it will readjust your tummy enough to move the gas around. I don’t know if there is any credibility to this, but I was desperate for anything that might help and I was home alone, so who would judge? No one. So, I delicately and gracefully hung upside down from my bed and waited for a few moments. Nothing was happening and I was overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the situation, so I tried to sit back up. As I did, a “gas bubble” descended upon me with a vengeance that I had not ever, nor ever since experienced and I tooted.

And tooted.

And tooted.

And then it hit me, something that absolutely was not a toot….

It was pain and fury and anguish and denial and horror. An absolute horror.

But now, I was here, cleaning my shorts and trying to just hold it together. ( I am not talking about trying to hold together my bumcheeks, they expelled all they possibly could).

I looked up from my work and said to the imaginary cameraman “I better be pregnant or there is no way I will ever let myself live this down.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s