When It Hits the Fan

You will never believe what happened to me this morning. It's so revolting. So disgusting. So massively shameful, I don't know why I'm even telling you.

If you've seen the movie "Sex and the City", here's a hint: Charlotte in Mexico.

Yes, that's right, I SHIT MY PANTS. I'll just let that statement sink in as you come to grips with the image of a 32 year old woman shitting her pants.

So, I woke up this morning to an unsettled, rather rumbly stomach. I immediately attributed this condition to the four reduced fat Pillsbury cinnamon rolls I ate for dinner last night. You know, the refrigerated kind that come in a tube with a little pot of sugar icing? Yeah, that kind. And yes, I realize that eating FOUR reduced fat cinnamon rolls defeats the whole purpose of getting the reduced fat version. What can I say? I am weak when faced with a plate of warm cinnamony goodness. Don't be a cinnamon roll hater!

While I am a huge fan of the refrigerated cinnamon rolls, clearly they are not kind to me. I really can't remember the last time I ate said cinnamon rolls, but I do not recall such a violent physical reaction.

Aaaaanyway, I woke up, duly noted the unsettled nature of my stomach and went about the business of getting ready for work. If there had been unreasonable pain or discomfort accompanying the unsettled rumblings, I may have taken more notice. Alas, I got in my car and toodled off.

Traffic wasn't abominable, but congested enough to slow things down considerably. The rumblings persisted and grew in urgency. At about Hillsboro Road, the rumblings became vicious growls and painful cramps. This is when I started to panic.

By commute standards, my commute is rather nice. The thing I like most about my drive to work is that it meanders through state parks, past fields and horse pastures, and through residential neighborhoods. While this is lovely every other day of the week, today it was torture. There was no McDonalds, no Target, no Publix to skid into and use the facilities. No, I realized my situation was turning desperate as my intestines revolted and protested in earnest.

And then, suddenly, with tears forming in my eyes, the dam simply would not hold any longer and a full-blown shit storm erupted in my pants.

Oh the shame.

The immense psychological damage involved when one shits their pants is astounding. Truly.

I had no choice but to turn around and drive home in my disgusting mess. I waddled upstairs, immediately got in the shower and washed away the shit and tears. If ever the universe was telling me to take a "mental health" day, today was that day! The dread and imminent threat of further shit storms has me holed up in isolation as I recover from the intense trauma of shitting my pants.

The three minutes it took you to read this are lost forever. You will never get those three minutes back. For this, I apologize.