*Warning: The following story is graphic. No, not violent, nor does it describe any strange sexual act, but it IS gross. I warn you, dear readers, that I share the following with some hesitance. Scratch that. With a great deal of hesitance. However, it's just too funny to keep between my husband and myself. Tonight, my friends, my worst fear was realized: The following is a true account, an all too real account.*
My husband and I decided to go out to dinner this evening, and we had a very nice meal. It was lovely conversation, good food, blah, blah, blah. The meal is not the story. After we paid, I could feel the rumbly in my tumbly that signals poo is on the way. Now, I should have just used the restroom at the restaurant, but you know that in a story like this "should have" is useless.
In the car, the poo quickly became a much more dire situation than I at first anticipated, and part way home, I had to tell my husband to "shush!" because I had to focus on not crapping my pants. Readers, it very quickly became a painful situation and I was sitting there in traffic, sweating with the effort to hold it in, near tears because I had to go so bad and we were stuck at a red light, and my husband is repeating: "It's okay, you can make it. We're two blocks from home. You can make it."
"Shut up! Shut up!" I yelled, "I'm not going to make it! I can't hold it! I'm gonna die..." was my response (clearly, you want me in an emergency situation).
And then it happened. I crapped my pants.
I literally could not hold it anymore and the light seemed like it would never turn green, and then...yeah, I pooped myself.
"Oh my God!" my husband yelled, "It stinks so bad!"
He rolled down the window, tears from laughing streaming his own cheeks, while I sat there in my own shit. And it was messy. Very messy. And I have to say, it was one of the worst feelings in my life because it wasn't just a little squirt of poo, it was a load in my pants and I was sitting in it.
Finally, the light turned green (and God had had his laugh for the day), and we raced home, quickly parked and I hauled ass into the bathroom where I showered so thoroughly I took off a layer of skin.
Thankfully, I made my husband promise (before we got out of the car) that he still loved me and wouldn't leave me over such a debacle (he also promised he wouldn't tell anyone, but I think he said that because he knew I'd be telling everyone myself...it's a disease, I have no shame), so that's good -- I knew those vows weren't for nothing. Otherwise, I have to admit that this is THE single most emabarassing thing to happen to me (and I got de-pantsed in front of the entire 6th grade!), yet I have to also admit that on a certain level, I'm relieved. My worst fear has finally been realized (and thank god it didn't happen on the way to school -- I would've had to call in sick and rush home), and it's kind of a relief for it to have just happened.
Now, on the other hand, I know my friends and husband will never let this die (I'm sure I will hear endlessly of this tomorrow at bowling, but that's the price I pay for my own forthcoming of the story), and my car will probably never smell the same (something tells me that might affect the trade-in value), and those pants are done for. Ugh.
Worst. Incident. Ever.