Ooops! I Crapped My Pants!

It is my firm belief that every adult has, at some point in their old-enough-to-know-better years, crapped their pants.

And even if you don't want to admit it, you probably have messed a pair of drawers or two. Well, maybe more so guys than girls.

A couple of weeks ago, Hotass, T-man and I were sitting around on a Friday night, having a beer and already this story is sounding way too butch. It was precipitated by Dusty's post about loo etiquette and like a train speeding out of control, the conversation turned to fecal matters. And now seriously, this is only a conversation you'd have with your closest friends. Each of us had at least one, if not more, story about crapping our pants.

Hotass had to leave a pair of underwear in the bushes somewhere between Seattle and Memphis on a marathon cross-country roadtrip. I had to leave a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs in an Exxon restroom somewhere in Kentucky.

Usually the story involved a long roadtrip and thinking you could make it to the next exit. And in a few circumstances, it was a case of gas-passing turning out to be something much wetter.

For example, my story about being on the way to work one morning. I was barely three blocks from home. Sitting at the stoplight, I thought all I had to do was let out a light squeaker. A few seconds later, I was making a U-turn to go home and change pants.

And I also told my story about a Target restroom in Hendersonville, Tenn. And, believe me, it's not one I want to retell.

Well, let's try this. You know when the Gotta-Go-Gotta-Go-Gotta-Go-Right-Now mood strikes, and it's intense? Mind-numbing pain intense? The sphincter clenches to save the Banana Republic khakis? You make it to a bathroom but there is a catch-22. You need to sit on the toilet to gain some relief, but at the moment you unclench to perform the squatting movement, you'll effing explode before you're even in position to explode. It's a quandary, for sure. Exactly what is the right choice? Let me tell you...make sure the paper towel dispenser is well-stocked before you choose to squat. Because Merciful God... THAT'S what it looks like when the shit hits the fan.

But the best story of the evening goes to T-man. He arose one morning and tied on his robe. He got a phone call from his boyfriend and he strutted about the kitchen, making coffee and other morning stuff. While he's on the phone, he has a guess-if-it's-dry-or-wet moment. He opts for dry. He was wrong, dressed in his robe in the middle of the kitchen.

"Fuck!" he cries.

"What's wrong?" asks the gentleman.

"I just shit in the floor!"