Wednesday, December 07, 2005

My arsenal runneth over

Are you all sufficiently suspended? Great. Now I feel all of this pressure to tell a great story and you all might think it's a total dud then I'll get all verklempt and anxious and will have to take a pill and go shopping and stuff 14 pounds of chocolate down my gullet to make myself feel better. In other words, it'll be a normal day for me.

It was a dark and stormy night ,another exciting weekend packed with fun and frolic, an average Saturday night sitting around in jammies staring at the idiot box trying to find something better than rotting road kill or the Lifetime all-Tori-all-the-time channel to watch. Or, dog forbid, something that involves paint swatches and an endless supply of the word "space".

I was fading fast and had nearly given up on any speck of entertainment I might encounter. Bored stiff I was. We decided to buy a movie that musn't have kept my attention for more than 3 seconds cause fuck if I can remember what it was. And we kept having to pause it because one, we didn't care since it wasn't grabbing us by the balls, and B, stuff kept having to be done like smoking and drinking and teasing the cats.

About an hour into it whitey got up for the 10th time and headed for the bathroom. I thought nothing of this since he was enjoying some beer and has the bladder of a field mouse when drinking so it's not unusual that he takes a pee-break oh, every 9 seconds. I thought I'd be nice for the one minute I allot to not being a raging bitch every day and paused the flick once again so he wouldn't miss a millisecond of enrapturing footage. This is important to the story, trust me.

Normally, I wouldn't be paying attention to the myriad of sounds emanating in my house. Half the time I don't even hear the cat puke anymore, which is nice, but since I was sitting in front of a frozen screen with nothing to do but ponder my own thoughts (yea, right) I heard a muffled comment coming from the hallway bathroom where my beloved was taking a whiz. And also, we've gotten to that horrible point in our relationship where the bathroom door does not get closed all the way and even sometimes left completely open and I'm just waiting for the day when we actually take a crap in front of one-another which will be a sad, sad day because that shit is just wrong.

My ears perked up a little when I realized there was some chatter coming from the crapper and I quickly assessed what I thought I'd heard. Yep, I think I was right. I heard something akin to "Aawwww, man. Fucking hell." Now what could this possibly mean? Did the TP roll fall into the water with a pee-pee kerplunk? Did someone shake it too hard and splash his wee eye? Did a cat sneak up and tongue the bung? I didn't hear any more comments and figured all was well.

Then I heard the shower running.

Now what the fuck is going on. I have a movie sittin' on pause here and we're out of decent food in the fridge for me to raid in the meantime, and the internets had been boring me all day, and my new People was lame. The cats were hiding so I couldn't torture them and I had nothing to do but sit there with my thumb up my butt and now he's taking a fucking shower? The hell?

I got up and walked to the almost-shut bathroom door, creaked it open a little, got hit in the face with an odor that was decidedly not roses, and said "Baby? You OK? Why are you in the shower?"

There was a purposeful pause. A deliberate delay. An obvious omission of information.

And then, with an edge of self-disdain and slight annoyance although absent of any embarrassment he said, "I fucking sharted!"

*The author needs to take a break to finish laughing like a moron because 5 days later it's still so god damn funny that she cannot contain herself and must wait until the tears streaming down her face are dried and she gets the strength back in her hands to type.

O.K. I'm O.K. now.

Of course whenever anything of this nature happens to someone, even strangers, I must have every dirty detail. Had a horrific experience giving birth? Tell me all about it. Had to have a cyst the size of a baby's fist lanced off your hoo-ha? Sister, come sit by me. Shart your pants so badly you have to GET IN THE FUCKING SHOWER? It's what I live for!

At this point I'm now laughing so hard it's difficult to squeak out the questions I'm trying to ask. How did this happen? Didn't you feel anything on deck down there? Were you sitting? IS IT ALL OVER THE TOILET SEAT OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TO MOVE AREN'T WE?

I was finding it difficult to stand and talk at the same time so I let him finish "cleaning up" and managed to calm down a little. He joined me back on the couch fresh as a little daisy where I commenced my interrogation and relentless teasing. Between giggling I began peppering my conversation with the word shart as often as I could. Most of the time laughing so hard I couldn't sputter anything coherent out of my mouth much more than "sha sha shahahahah", which of course caused whitey to begin laughing again with me and off we went.

I finally couldn't take anymore and had to calm down before I had a stroke. The dumb movie was over so I went into the bedroom to go screw around on the computer and try to get the cramp in my ribs to go away. However, I was still curious about how the hell this could have happened to someone who has so much freakish control over his sphincter he should be studied by science. I have to be within 20 feet of a shitter at all times but he could shut down the poop shoot for a week if necessary and not bat an eye. And I still couldn't figure out how a little shart would cause someone to bath their entire body.

Whitey walked into the bedroom and I hit him with one last question. "But baby, how come you had to take a whole shower?" He stopped. Put his hands on his hips and said, "DUDE! THE SHIT WENT DOWN MY LEG!!".

And then I went completely limp, flopped onto the ground in hysterics, broke my spleen with maximum capacity howling laughter, and peed my fricking pants.

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