Neglecting to lock the door of the family car as a child when I thought it would be funny to honk the horn as my father worked under the hood.
In your defense, I’m sure it *was *funny.
If you’re a chef specializing in Caribbean cuisine and you make your jerk chicken the authentic Jamaican way, with extra finely chopped habanero or scotch bonnet peppers, it’s best to inform your wife that you had some for dinner so she will remind you to brush your teeth and rinse your mouth thoroughly no fewer than eleventy billion times before you decide to pleasure her orally. Judging from the moan that turned into a shriek after about 30 seconds, not to mention the incoherent angry mumbling as she practically dove into the bathtub, you’d have thought I’d done it on purpose.
She forgave me, but I still get grief about it when I make jerk chicken.
So, when I clean the bathrooms I like to load up the toilets with that good, clinging, thick, chlorine bleach based cleaner and let them sit for awhile before I scrub them.
Last time cleaning the house I loaded up the toilet in the master bath then went and vacuumed the living room. While I was doing that a friend called and we chatted for a while.
Then I went back to the bedroom and realized I really needed to pee, which I proceeded to start, having completely forgotten about the bleach-based cleanser in the bowl.
When the smoke started to rise after about a second, I pinched off the flow, held my breath, flushed, hit the fan and swung the door closed behind me as I exited, all in one fairly graceful series of moves.
Then, of course, whatever muscles allow you pinch off the flow started to cramp and it felt like the urine was backflowing. I’ll admit it. I pissed in the sink. I still felt like I’d been kicked in the balls for half an hour. I let the fan run for a couple hours before opening the door again. No harm done.
Totally. I love stories that are so one sided in the gender of the action-taker. Usually the male stories are the funniest/stupidest.