Unscathed

You know what I haven’t done in a while? A ‘most embarrassing things that I’m willing to publicly admit’ post. Well, here’s one for ya. As you all should know by now, my childhood had some pretty hilarious moments. One being the time that my dad scared the crap out of me… Literally.

Yep, that happened. Now let me Tarantino this story and bring you back to the beginning. When I was younger any time that I complained about having an upset or achy stomach my Mom would always ask if I had tried to go to the bathroom. I know I can’t be the only one who experienced this. It was like every stomach issue could be resolved by simply emptying your belly. I mean, now that I say it that way I guess it actually makes sense. Which would explain why this is a practice that I still use to this day. Take in more fluids, have a sit down, and feel better. Back then, it started with either Alka-Seltzer or a spoonful of baking soda, both of which were just as likely to make you upchuck as they were to cause a bowel movement. At some point I realized that nesquick was a pretty good way to get relief as well.

So one random morning I woke up with a stomach ache and decided to fix myself a nesquick poo-shake. It usually worked pretty fast, so the plan was for me to drink it in the bathroom and wait. I don’t remember exactly what I did wrong, but my Dad, hearing me in the kitchen, figured that I was awake and that now would be a good time to talk to me about my rule infraction. He called me into his room, I brought the shake with, and then he proceeded to talk to me about what I had done wrong.

Now let me tell you, verbal reprimands in my house growing up came in the form of a conversation, not a lecture. So we had a back and forth, he’d ask a question, I’d answer, he’d ask another, I’d answer, and at some point in the conversation I felt it. At this point I had to make a decision on which one of these two issues I should focus on. At the time, my dad was 6’4, 2-whatever, basically all muscle. I focused on our conversation.

Midway through the conversation my sphincter had lost it’s first battle, I passed gas. My dad of course took this as an affront. The “if you come with a reasonable response you could possibly get out of this unscathed” conversation that we were having turned into a “you’re grounded, now let’s see for how long” conversation. I changed my mind, it was time to focus on my stomach. I hunched over and started to give one word answers.

Another affront, which catapulted me into “on the verge of getting spanked” territory. He raised his voice, and that did it. I interrupted him with something along the lines of “you can kill me later, but can I please go to the bathroom!?” I didn’t even wait for a response, I just took off, headed to the downstairs where by now I was shaking so much that I could barely sit. Full disclosure, I ended up having to take a shower and throw those underwear out.

When I returned… Oh wait, Tarantino… My Mom was in the room for our entire conversation, but I don’t remember her saying anything… So, when I returned I could hear my parents chuckling on the other side of the door before I knocked. They told me to come in, asked if I was ok, and let me go with a “don’t let this happen again”, in reference to both my inopportune bowel movement and whatever it was that I did that originally got me into trouble (I really wish that I could remember what that was).

~

Until next time, poopy in the potty, not in the pants.

P.S. I really hate group messages. Except for when I come across something as amazing as this story which OBVIOUSLY needed to be shared with my Mom, Granny, Sis, Sis-sis, and Uncle.

P.S.S. No, I did NOT have a Poop-Knife… But it would make this whole thing ten times funnier if I did.