November is a month where most people reflect on what they are thankful for. Yesterday’s events have me very thankful for lighthearted poo-lovin’ family and friends.
I had authentic Thai food for lunch. I say authentic because when I asked for mild spicy in my red curry, it was more like Level 10 Fires of Hell spicy. I ate 1/3 of my plate and drank 2 gallons of water. Surprisingly I didn’t feel any abdominal pain or discomfort over the new few hours. It wasn’t until after dinner I started to feel a small push on my stomach. It was taco night at my future parents-in-laws’ home. Immediately following my last delicious bite, my intestines started gurgling. I took a deep breath and sat up straight, trying to calm my insides. It worked for a nanosecond until a sharp pain punched me and I recoiled violently. They had a WTH look on their faces so I shared my spicy lunch story. I was mortified about my current condition, but I hid it by joking about where the furthest bathroom in the house was because they surely did not want them to hear or smell what I was about to unleash. My fiancé’s father asked if I was about to have a Dumb and Dumber moment, and then proceeded to make Hershey squirts sound effects. That lightened the mood, and I didn’t feel bad about taking my time and disappearing for 10 minutes on the crapper. Still, I tried to stay modest with a controlled sphincter so nothing exploded out too noisily. The first batch of poo was solids. My stomach pains vanished, and I thought “That was easy!” As I was about to exit the bathroom, I had an onslaught of hot sweats and intense cramping, I went back to the toilet, and a massive landslide of mushy poo that resembled lumpy Sriracha sauce plopped out of my butt, leaving a burning ring of fire around my fartbox. It felt like a blowtorch was simmering my anus. My ass was on fire, but my stomach felt 100% better so it was all good. I went back to the dinner table and warned them Don’t nobody go in the bathroom for about 35, 45 minutes. Somebody open up a window.