Before you hear my tragic tale, a couple personal notes must be addressed.
1) I'm lactose sensitive. I'm not completely lactose intolerant, but whenever I drink milk or eat ice cream I'm playing Russian Roulette with my sphincter.
2) I sneeze very hard. On several occasions my sneeze has been mistaken for a cough and El Nino. It's really strong.
Okay, now we’re ready.
My sad tale begins like any other day. I woke up, took a shower and proceeded to dry myself off very thoroughly. I then put on my pants one leg at a time. Next I played videogames for one hour (yes, I am currently unemployed) and then decided to meet my parents for lunch.
At noon, we sat down at a restaurant together and ordered food. I ordered a fish sandwich while my mom ordered some ice cream. I ate my sandwich and also some of the ice cream. This would prove to be a very, very big mistake.
After lunch we went to the mall, my dad taking a nap in the car while my mom and I walked into Macy’s.
We chatted amiably, completely unaware of the bombshell about to descend upon us.
I opened my mouth to make a witty remark (of course), but halfway through it turned into a sneeze. However, without my conscious approval, my sphincter had been playing Russian Roulette and lost - at the exact same moment as my sneeze.
You can probably guess what happened next.
I pooted on myself.
I deftly alerted my mother through a complex series of hoots, grunts, and a brief, “I pooted on myself.” God bless her soul, she immediately ran to buy me fresh underthingies.
I then proceeded to get lost – twice – on my way to the bathroom, all the while walking like an extra from Thriller.
Armed with a fresh set of undies, I planted myself in a bathroom stall and set to work on cleaning myself up. I got in a few good wipes when a very large and very loud man walked in. The stall I was in had cracks the size of Nebraska so I froze like a frightened deer and prayed that he couldn’t see or smell me. My naked legs quivered a little, but I patiently waited as my new bathroom mate urinated and continuously muttered, “oh god, oh god, oh god.”
About ten minutes later he stopped urinating and left me alone to wipe away my pooty stains and shame.
Later that evening, my mom told me to put my new underwear away in my room (salvation had come in a three pack). I replied that I didn’t ever want to see them again because of the shameful manner in which they had entered my life.
My mom turned to me and said, “ You shouldn’t say that about your new underwear, they saved your butt.” And then she laughed at me.