It’s been a while since I trapped my husband in the bathroom while I pooped. Not because I’m nice, but because my bowel movements haven’t coincided with his shower schedule lately. That changed yesterday when I had the diarrhea gurgles five minutes after he turned on the water. Conditions were
I got over my inability to eat ice cream pretty quickly. Even though I am lactose intolerant, I decided eating ice cream was a good idea because 1) it is delicious, and 2) it gives me hellacious gas worthy of dutch-oven’ing my fiancé. My farts that night were super hellacious.
You know how when you’re with a group of friends and a good song comes on, so all of you sing at the top of your lungs, and then halfway through the song you blurt out the wrong lyrics while everyone else is silent, and you feel like a dumb