I warn you in advance, if you're sensitive to stories about bodily functions (specifically involving fecal matter), please just leave my blog NOW. I mean it. GO. Quickly hit the back arrow. Because I am not proud of the following story, but I feel it needs to be told and people need to know they're not alone with this. Just trying to help.
OK, so the other day something reeeeeeally appalling happened to me. I *KNOW* I am surely not alone in this, but it feels like I am. I often make jokes about this sort of thing, so when it occurs in real life, I am ashamed.
Thank God it wasn't THAT bad (!), but it happened. And I'm not proud.
And I am pretty sure the reason it happened was karma. Karma AND Scott. Yes, it is true. They are BOTH to blame. Here's why...
Rewind to approximately a month or so ago. I got a nasty cold. The kind where you cough for like 6 weeks, hock up & out multiple loogies every 3 minutes, and your body continues producing more amazingly. The kind where you cough-so-hard-and-so-often-that-you-maybe-pee-your-pants-on-the-hard-ones (just a little... shhhh!). The kind where you are so f'ing annoyed that you wish you'd gotten the 24 hour flu instead because SURELY a day of puking your brains out beats 6 weeks of coughing and getting half-assed, broken sleep the entire time. Yep, got that bad boy, and then proceeded to pass it on to my hubby -- out of love, of course.
I'd tapered down on the coughing/sneezing/simultaneous peeing, though Scott was still in full effect. As he laid down to go to sleep one night maybe two weeks ago, he had a coughing attack which was so violent and boisterous that he literally interrupted my story & proclaimed, "Oh dear... I may have just sharted..." He ditched our Claire (his snuggle bunny!) & beelined for the head. I exploded in laughter and delight at his misfortune, leaning forward in bed to peer in the john to get a load of this hot mess (literally!). Probably TMI, but he did a quick crack-check and courtesy wipe only to announce, "FALSE ALARM! WHEW! Thank God, because I'm pretty sure I haven't shit my pants since the early 90's. Glad I didn't break my streak (pun intended)!"
To which I called BULLSHIT.
And this is when our steamy (HA!) shart debate began... (the next day, as the near-shart incident occurred at like 2:00 am!)
Gwen -- "There is NO WAY IN HELL you've not sharted since high school..."
Scott -- "No, I'm serious, I remember exactly when it happened last. I think it was my junior year & I'd been sick... I tested the waters out on farting post cha-cha-cha & I lost."
Gwen -- "No, I'm pretty sure I've seen skid marks in your boxers since we've been married..."
Scott -- "WHAT?!?! No you haven't! GO FIND A PAIR OF MY BOXERS THAT HAVE SHIT STAINS IN THEM!!! I do NOT shit my pants."
Gwen -- "I think I'll pass, but we ALL shit our pants from time to time, it's NORMAL."
Scott -- "Only if you're an infant! Nastyyyyy!"
Gwen -- "It happens to the best of us. I'm not afraid to admit I have sharted, and I will likely shart again."
Scott -- "Do you think our babysitter is listening to this conversation?"
Gwen -- "God, I hope so... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Fast forward to about a week ago. I am over the cold basically, minding my own business getting ready to fix a bottle for Lola, and as it's normal to fart approximately 14 times daily (I shit you not!), I may or may not have let one slide, only to be greeted by that unfamiliar gooey sensation I'd JUST made fun of Scott for about a week prior. I panic, drop the F-bomb, and dash for the loo. You have GOT to be shitting me! No, I was shitting MYSELF. Smaller than dime sized, but actual feces nonetheless. WTF?!??!?!
When Cal got home from school, I "came clean" about sharting, as he normally finds this sort of thing hilarious. This time, I'm met with, "Ewwwwww. Thanks for sharing. That's disguuuuuuusting." I said, "I KNOW!!!! But remember all those times YOU sharted? Remember how we laughed & made light of it & it made you feel better about having done it & all was better?" He just stared at me, made a face of pure horror, and walked off.
Some help he is.
So when Scott got home, I was feeling insecure and embarrassed. Ashamed of my rectum's utter betrayal, I shared my dirty little secret. Scott busted out a 20 second laugh & then said, "That's karma, babyyyyy! Sorry 'bout your luck. My streak is still unbroken! HAHHAHAHHA! You sharted! HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!"
Seriously?! Time to bust some balls.
Gwen -- "Ummm, hang on just a second, jackwipe... I STILL don't believe you haven't shit yourself in 20 years."
Scott -- "It's true. All of it."
Gwen -- "See, I am confused and bewildered why this even happened! I am not even sick? I haven't had an upset stomach, cha-cha-cha, or ANYTHING. I'm good!"
Scott -- "It's because you made fun of me for it last week."
Gwen -- "Karma can suck it. I think it happened because I have such a healthy diet. It's fiber's fault."
Scott -- "I'm sure that's a ringing endorsement for healthy eating -- shitting your pants! HAHAHAHA!"
At this point, Cal is chiming in with the insults.
Cal -- "I haven't even sharted since like last year!"
Gwen -- "Whatever, you got that parasite in Oklahoma at the lake this past summer -- you sharted in August. And at least I was there for you when you did!!!! Remember? I told you not to wear those white shorts the first day of school?!?!? See, I HELPED YOU. Y'all are traitors."
Scott -- "I don't believe for a second avocados made you shit your pants."
Gwen -- "It wasn't a fully formed TURD per se... it was more of a jello-like consistency, similar to that of smooshed avocado. It's the avocado's fault."
Scott -- (quoting one of our favorite Saturday Night Live skits) "Imagine this pitcher of ice tea is really a gallon of your feces!"
Gwen -- "SHUT UP!!!!! There was hardly ANY!!!!!"
Scott -- "Still counts as a shart, no matter what size."
Gwen -- "You are an asshole."
Cal -- "I can't believe you sharted! NASTYYYYYYYY!"
So by this point, the ol' ego has taken QUITE a blow. We happen to get together with a few family members who I'm sure would like to remain anonymous at this juncture, and I broach the subject gently by asking, "So, ummmm, when was the last time you sharted? I mean, if you're willing to divulge that private information..." I trail off. Liar #1 replies, "Are you serious? I'm not sure I EVER have... Have you been doing your Kegels??? You know that also tightens up your rectal muscles as well..." I retort, "Wait a second, I don't have control issues, I just thought I had to fart!" I re-ask the question of the other person. He replies, "Man, that's the shits! I don't remember?"... Pansies. Afraid to admit it, I'm sure of it. Then Scott razzes Liar #2 about one time they were working up on a roof together & Liar #2 strains himself and then announces, "OH MAN, I think I just shit my pants. I'd rather get kicked in the balls than shit my pants. I'll be right back..." And then he hastily retreated to the shitter, walking in that oh-so-awkward, bow-legged, short-strided kind of way. Classic shart. Good times!
I thought the convo/excessive taunting had died days ago, but it unfortunately resurfaced with a vengeance yesterday. We've been having some digestive issues with Mrs. Pocket. She has always strained very hard to poop, and I've always said it was because she was full of shit like her father. Due to her Cerebral Palsy, she has increased tone in all the muscles of her body, including the intestinal tract. As you've read about in previous crappy posts, our Lola relies heavily on The Shit Whisperer to help her "get the job done." We wanted to be sure we weren't missing anything regarding her health, so I put in a call to her pediatrician to discuss her dookie in-depth. After much discussion, we decided that likely it's just her super high tone in her rectum/anus preventing things from easily exiting.
I asked about Botox injections to the asshole. The doctor laughed out loud & said she could check on that. I recount this to Scott later...
Gwen -- "I asked the doctor about why she strains so much to go, and she thinks it is likely just her super powers to blame. You know, her incredible strength/tone."
Scott -- "HA! So what do you do about that?"
Gwen -- "Well, I'm gonna try a few strategies diet and supplement-wise, but mostly, we just have to deal with it."
Scott -- "I'm glad it's not something more... asshole surgery would be the shits."
Gwen -- "HA! Yeah, I even asked about Botoxin' up her sphincter... Dr. A laughed but said she could check on it... I'm concerned about that though, because if Botox completely relaxed her anal muscles, wouldn't she just repeatedly shit herself?!?!? Course, maybe that would be a good thing?!"
Scott -- "Yeah, then she'd be just like you!!!!!!! HAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHA!"
Gwen -- "I hate you."
I guess the moral of the story is... don't eat avocados.
Kidding! I love avocados, and I am pretty sure their health benefits & my enjoyment of both them and guacamole are WORTH the occasional shart. FA SHO.
So maybe the real moral is that in order to be REALLY safe, you may need to sport some of these: (be sure to hit PAUSE on the Playlist below)
I hope that this
CHEERS! And you're welcome.
I leave you with this hideous display...