I shit my pants in public, twice.
About 8 years ago when I was in the Navy, my pipes were clogged and my boyfriend at the time, Bob, recommended I take 2 extra strength Ex lax.
“That’s what I do,” he said with a shrug.
All 6’2″ and 220 pounds of him.
I didn’t consider the size difference, nor did I read the box, but I willingly placed my bowels in his hands and drank the pills down.
Later that day, we were on a walk and he was a few feet ahead of me, and I yelled, giggling, “Bob, listen!”
He turned around.
I farted, but it wasn’t a fart. I smiled like a donut.
Bob said, “Did you…?”
“I just shit my pants…” I moaned.
He fell to the grass on his knees, I backed into the nearest bathroom and scooped my sad underwear free of chunks.
The next day, in full uniform, I retold the story to the guys in my workshop and they all got a good chuckle. A few minutes later, we were at morning quarters, and I tried to whisper a fart from my asscheeks. My thong underwear was a fair dealer that day; it kindly split the “shart” down the center and gave each pant leg an equal helping. Bless boot straps because my pant legs were like buckets, catching every last drop of mud.
“Hey,” I whispered to Russ Boulware, “I gotta go home and change my pants.”
Boulware asked, “You shit yourself again?”
Lessons:
- just because someone loves you, it doesn’t mean they know what’s best for you.
- I can shit on myself; however, it’s different when someone else shits on me, which leads into my next story–
This weekend, Saturday Night, my date got mad at me for being late to our date and he shit on me, but not literally.
After my delay, we walked to Winchester’s on Main Street and the doorman told us that we were too late, and they had stopped serving food. My date released a small flood of irritation at me while the doorman watched. I felt a rush of blood to my cheeks and tried to drag my date away from the door.
He said, “I told you that you were running late! I told you to hurry!”
We’ve been on several dates and this was the first time I had been late, so I wanted to punch him in the nuts for being shitty in front of a stranger who was probably sick of seeing couples bitch at each other over bullshit reasons.
I pulled the man away from Winchester’s and said, “Listen, I’m sorry I was late, but don’t ever talk to me like that in front of strangers. Praise in public, punish in private. If you ever have a problem with something I do, talk to me about it. Not a stranger.”
His turn to be surprised. He said he didn’t feel as though he truly scolded me in front of the doorman. He apologized.
With each of these stories I tell about dating, I know there’s a lesson to be learned, otherwise, I wouldn’t bore you with the details of my average life. Maybe the lesson is to be on time? To not let someone publicly embarrass you, regardless of what it is you’ve done?
For me, another lesson? No date has been wasted time. Each one has worked like one piece of a mosaic that is filling in a very colorful picture. The end result, the beautiful image hidden beneath, will only make sense after all of the colors have been filled, experiences had, shit splattered, etc.
And, as my friend LIbby said, “If a bad date is anything, it’s an awesome story to tell over breakfast the next morning.”
Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/
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