Shit Happens

I'm not partial to discussing poop. Sometimes I am forced to when Supple brings it up again and again. And sometimes Mikey and I have to discuss whose turn it is to clean up Angelou's from the yard. In light of recent events, I think now is a fine time to bring up the topic. I think it is safe to say that most of us, at one time or another, have had a run in with the runs or an "oops-I-crapped-my-pants situation" or a "never trust a fart" kind of moment. Admit it. Or don't. You know your own truth...

I will be brazen enough to admit that I, myself, have unfortunately experienced one of the above situations in two instances. I am not counting those that happened when I wore diapers either. You never know when it might hit you. That dreaded, foreboding sound of the stomach grumbling. The hot then cold flashes. The conversation you begin to have with yourself as you attempt to negotiate your way out of a potentially embarrassing situation. I know you're nodding your head in agreement. You've been there, you've done that. But I am not going to go into my personal bowel battles. Do you think me that bold? That unencumbered by humility? I think not! But I have no problem sharing other people's stories. If Tomato can share with the world about his adventures with a colonic, surely I can share a moment from the other day...

It was late in the afternoon and a group of us gals went out for a long walk. One of us, who shall remain nameless, had recently battled a bout of the flu and was out for her first forage in a couple of days. We set out and went about chatting and walking, walking and chatting. About 15 minutes into it, the one who shall remain nameless, says she has to go to the bathroom. We point to some bushes and tell her to cop a squat. She passes on that idea and we continue to walk. She says to me: I am considering going up to one of these houses to ask if I can use their bathroom. I will tell them I am a nice person out for a walk who just desperately needs to go. I tell her to talk about anything other than that to take her mind off of it. A few minutes later I ask her how she is holding up and she says: I really have to go. You know how unpredictable my bowels are. Um, wha?! Excuse me but I thought a moment ago we were just talking about #1, not #2! Uh oh.

She falls back from the other walkers as we continue on. We are more than half-way done with our route when we come upon a large open field with a scattering of large bushes. She pauses and contemplates the greenery before her. She looks to us and says: I've got to go. We gather in a huddle to discuss a plan. I offer for the rest of us to book it back to the house to pick up a car while she waits there...and what she does while she waits is up to her (and her unpredictable bowels). She agrees and off we go.

On the way to the car, we all discuss our relief of not being held hostage by our bowels in a field, forced to moon the passers-by with our lily white asses exposed for all to see. We exchange stories of oops-I crapped-my-pants predicaments. We get to the car and speed back to pick her up. There she is, standing alone by the side of the road, waiting for her rescue like a little girl lost. She gets in the car and says: "I had to use my panties to wipe. I left them in the field." In my mind I was thankful she didn't try to bring them home for a washing. She goes on to say: "I am so embarrassed!" And we try to assuage her feelings of humiliation by saying it happens to the best of us, yadda yadda yadda. And then I say: "You think you are embarrassed now- wait until I write about it on my blog tomorrow!"