Shitting my pants happens often. A little too often for an adult, but when you have digestive issues you just deal with it. It just becomes a daily part of my life sometimes as I can go from feeling awesome to feeling awful in half a second.
It can happen any time. A few years ago, I did a triathlon and got really sick after the race. Let’s just say, shit happened. Constantly. In the truck. Right at the bathroom door (NOT in the bathroom door…). Literally, it happened as I was turning the knob to go into the bathroom. All I could think about was how awesome it was that I was shitting my pants right next to the tub so that I could at least clean up faster.
Once, I had some extra time in between hair appointments while I was home in Dallas and decided to go for a quick run. The park I chose was linear, and not that long – I think out and back was maybe 3 miles total. I don’t remember the exact distance. All I know is that I was running, everything was fine, the day was sunny and the weather perfect, my lungs could actually breathe…and then all of a sudden it happened. I shit my pants. I didn’t even have time to finish processing the thought that I felt bad before my light gray shorts were literally full of shit.
Runners were running by but were going the opposite direction, so they never noticed that I was suddenly standing there in shit filled light gray shorts. The awesome color meant that you could actually see from the outside what had happened on the inside. I hopped into the woods to unload the load and figure out what I was going to do next. There was shit everywhere on my pants, including a huge dark mark on the back of my butt – there was no other option, I needed to make a friend.
So, I took a look at my potential friends moving past on the trail.
There was a random dude.
An older dude.
An older lady with a dog. Hmmm, no.
There’s a younger lady with a dog – she looks harmless.
She might accept my friendship, so I walk up to her and tell her I had an accident. Literally. She looked at me in disgust while her dog was shitting on the trail right next to her (why is it okay for dogs to poop whenever and wherever they need to, but humans are hideous when this happens?). I asked her if she could drive me to the gas station down the street and she accepted.
I told her I would sit on the back of her car or in the bed of her truck, but she insisted I sit inside. Great. Sitting inside gets us even closer in an enclosed space and now she’ll be able to actually smell my shit. That sounds like a PERFECT idea with her light gray canvas seats. Shit.
Her car was a mess, so that made me feel a little better, but my brain was panicking because it wasn’t fine to just sit right there on her seat. Even though I wanted to make friends with her (she got the lucky number today apparently), I didn’t want her to keep a piece of me forever. So, she gave me a scarf and told me to wrap it around my waist. I slid as far down the seat as I could so that almost none of me touched it while she drove down the street to take me to the gas station. In this moment, life couldn’t get any worse – though she told me I could keep the scarf.
She told me she would wait for me until I was done, so I go to the bathroom and am pretty sure that everyone person I pass knows. I’m pretty sure they were all staring right at me as I walked by and knew my dirty little secret. I go into the bathroom and still to this day have no idea what I ate that made me sick, but it looked like it must have been a huge heaping of grass and mud (gross, I know). I cleaned out my pants and hoped that no one else would walk into the bathroom. Shit is oily, so this project required a lot of soap. I never would have known this prior to being required to hand wash my shorts in a gas station bathroom. Such a useful life lesson.
My shorts are soaking wet when I’m done, so I put my awesome little wrap back around my waist and pranced my little ass back out to my new best friend’s car. I told her where I started from and she agreed to just take me back to my car (phew, no butt chafing from all the shit that has encrusted itself on my ass). Baby wipes and spot cleaning were no longer helpful, I needed a god damn shower.
I felt bad and offered to give her a gift card so that she could treat herself to dinner. I offered her a haircut even though she had no idea about my super awesome hair styling abilities since this was the situation in which we were introduced. She said no to both options – her face pretty much told me that she never wanted anything to do with me again after she dropped me off. You know what, it’s okay. I shit my pants and that’s really not my preferred method of making friends with people.
She dropped me off and I never saw her again.