It had been two days since I pooped. It was early Friday and I didn’t have my bowel movement yet, but I knew I’d poop sometime that day because I was feeling bottom heavy. I had a wedding dress appointment around the time I usually take my morning dump. If you’ve seen the movie Bridesmaids, you know what happens during the dress shopping scene. While I didn’t think my colon would have a similar explosive scenario, I was afraid I’d have to poop while modeling my dress. I drove to my appointment, and to relieve the pressure off my colon I farted in the driver seat. It was a deep, hot fart. It was so steamy that I felt the warm gas heat up my thighs as the fart traveled down my pants. And it was completely stanky. It smelled like something died inside me and the rot was seeping out my ass. I released as much gas as I could before I arrived at my appointment. My farts were so thick that I might have carried in some of the residual scent inside my pants. I managed to get through the appointment without any embarrassing incidents. I got back into my car and as I sat down, the air felt thick and musky and it smelled like rotten eggs. It was the remnants of the fart I made 30 minutes earlier. I would have high-fived myself and crowned my butt as fart queen, but instead I gagged on my own filth. The smell was so terrible. I made it home in time to unload a behemoth sized dung. That smelled worse than my fart, and I had to give myself a courtesy flush. It’s very rare when I can’t handle the aroma of my own excrement, but this happened to be one of those times. It was a mixture of sulfur/rotten eggs, sewage, rancid meat, and rotten cabbage. The poo also left turd streaks along my toilet bowl that would not wash off with multiple flushes. Note to self: don’t eat two dozen oysters the night before the wedding. Or ever again.