Sometimes awful things happen to you. Truly awful tragic things that make you wonder who you slashed to death with a kitchen knife in your past life to cause the karmic realm to hate on you so ferociously. But you suck it up. Cos some of us are pretty staunch like that. And you move on. Or if you are an attention seeking whore, you write about it.........just like this.
Something happened to me yesterday. Something so disgusting that I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it or not. And then I told someone about it, & they laughed so hard they were crying shame tears for me.
So here we are.
You know that scene from Bridesmaids when everyone gets the shits from eating bad Portuguese food? And when the bride to be is running across the road to the toilet & proceeds to make kakas in her pants?
If you've clicked where this post is going & are questioning whether or not you want to know what happened to me, I suggest you leave now. Y'all know by now that there ain't nothing sacred with me.
Well yesterday, while sitting quietly at my desk minding my own business, dabbling in a bit of actual work, I found myself needing to pass wind. For the record, as much as I seem to write about farts on this here blog, I am by no means a frenzied fart bomb dropper.
Anyway, as I let the built up intestinal wind unleash itself slowly from my backside, to my absolute horror I realised that wind wasn't the only thing released from my backside orifice.
I shat in my own pants.
Before I could fully register what had happened I was high tailing it to the work bathroom. Thank christ no one else was in the office at the time.
Upon inspection, yes it seemed the violent diarrhoea that had been plaguing me since the early hours of yesterday morning had not fully subsided. And I misjudged my abilities, or lack thereof, to omit a simple fart.
Another thing, regardless of the fact I swear like a truckers whore, I am indeed a lady. I don't like to dally in the bathroom for any longer than necessary. I am clean & borderline obsessive compulsive with personal hygiene. So much so, that sometimes my vigorous backend cleansing ritual leaves me feeling like I've wiped my ass right off. With a kitchen scourer. And it smarts.
So I found myself somewhat stranded with a stinky mess in my undergarments in the one work toilet. Any minute now one of my drivers could come in to use the bathroom. What the fuck do I do?
I took my chucks off, removed my brand new black skinny jeans, carefully removed the horror undies, & then I panicked. Before I could even think about what I was doing, I had shoved my soiled panties in the sanitary disposal bin. Fuck my life. Seriously what is wrong with me?
There I was, still stranded in the toilet, except now I had no panties, only a slightly moist in the ass pair of shit jeans.
It wasn't a big mess. Luckily my epic butt cheeks had contained the mess like they were trying to trap a small forest animal. Praise the fat ass. I cleaned myself up, then remembered I had a spare pair of undies in my gym bag. I re-troued, momentarily commando, & penguin walked, cheeks clenched like my entire life depended on it, back into my office to fetch my gym bag.
Back in the safe haven of the toilet, I put on my clean pair of lady bloomers, & my gym pants. Cos I couldn't put my black jeans back on. There was a moist patch on the ass crack that one can only assume was courtesy of my spontaneous anal leakage problem.
Then I rang my husband. Ashamed & feeling slightly foolish, I requested that he deliver me a clean pair of jeans to my place of work. After hosing himself laughing for a good 10 minutes he finally agreed.
He turned up 15 minutes later & could not look me in the eye. I sat at my desk, my top half all officey & proper, & my bottom half looking geared up to slug it out in the gym. I looked like a complete fuckwit.
Clean pair of daks on, I got on with my day. But I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about the demon pants buried deep in the sanitary disposal bin in the toilet. A man comes & empties that bin at the start of every month. He's always happy even though he possibly has one of the worst jobs in the world, & he always leaves me a small packet of jellybeans on the counter. I don't even want to think about what he's going to think when he discovers the feral panties.
I am going to try & mentally will them to decompose into dust with my awesome mind powers.
Failing that, I have two other options. Either I attempt to dig them out & find another way of disposing of the upset colon crime, or I leave town the week he's due to come in. I won't accept his gracious jellybean offering. I don't deserve it.
Because I am a giant baby who shits in her pants.
Please pray for me people. Pray that my boss or any of my other work colleagues do not read this post. Because I will die.
I may be a cool guy, but shit really does happen. In my pants apparently.
UPDATE: The 'When farts gone bad' tragedy pants have been retrieved from the sanitary disposal bin. DO not ask.
Have you ever had something so embarrassing happen to you that you swore you'd never tell anyone? I've kinda set the bar pretty high but go on set your secret free. We are all friends here.
Peace & love
Mrs Shitty Pants x