I posted on here earlier, and it made me think. You may have lost a poop war, but at least your trousers lived to fight another day.
While in Boston earlier this year, a comrade of mine and myself were walking to the subway after our tour of Fenway Park. We were nearing the subway when he began to sport a rather uncomfortable look.
Upon my asking, he informed me that his bowels were a bubbling. I offered to initiate a reconnaissance mission to locate a bathroom, but he declined. We trudged on. Whilst on the train ride back to our hotel, he began shifting in his seat. His face grew red, and it didnt take an ordinance specialist to tell he was about to blow.
We got off of the train and into the subway. Quickly spotting a restroom sign, he began shuffling - no - waddling towards refuge. He didnt make it.
I dont feel i need to go into more detail. Trousers were tossed, and dignity was defeated.
I felt i should follow the format whilst telling this story. Its true, by the way.
After having his gall bladder out, my husband has discovered that he no longer has the option of waiting to get home to drop the kids off at the pool - when the urge is upon him, it means FIND BATHROOM NOW!
For some time after my surgery, I couldn’t even make it through a meal without making a run (heh!) for the bathroom. When dining out, I found it best to find a seat close as to the ladies’ room as possible. I became fairly certain that the doctor had not only removed my gallbladder, but my entire digestive system, and connected my esophagus directly to my anus.
It did get better, though I have one memory that stands out from that time. I’d gotten to where I didn’t have to go IMMEDIATELY after eating–I had maybe half an hour after a meal before having to make a potty dash. So, we had a nice dinner at a steakhouse and then went to do some shopping at KMart. As I walked through the door, the urgent need struck. No problem, there are bathrooms right close to the entrance, and I do my stiff-legged, clenched-buttocks speed waddle all the way there. Oh, I’m just going to make it, hurry, get the stall door open, unbutton pants, ooh, hang on just a second mo…NO PAPER!! AAAHHHHHHH! Nor is there any paper in the next stall, or the next. NOOOOOOOO!!! Pinch it back, the service desk is right next to the bathrooms, they’ll get me some. By now, I’ve tightened my anal sphincter so hard that I can feel it in my throat.
Well, the helpful lady in customer service summoned a stockboy to fetch the paper and he disappeared in search of some. He was gone so long I was afraid he’d gone to Siberia to find it, and all the while, I’m in dreadful agony. Another customer joined me in my wait and added to my distress, because I knew that she’d be there to hear every blast and gurgle, as my control was beginning to reach it’s limit. FINALLY, the stockboy returned (having had time to grow a full beard in his absence), and I snatched the paper and staggered in, followed by my fellow customer. I asked her to please ignore any sound effects, as I’d been ill and couldn’t help it. And there were indeed many sound effects, the like of which have never even been heard on the worst of South Park episodes. I could have died from embarrassment, but the lady in the next stall was very gracious and sympathetic (and I can only hope that the sounds and smells she was subjected to that night didn’t leave any lasting trauma), bless her heart!