- May. 10th, 2010 at 10:51 PM
I am in such a bummed out mood that I can’t possible write anything constructive. So I’ll try for funny.
I swore my sister to secrecy on this one but I am going to spill it here for the whole world to devour (HA! Like I have that kind of following!).
Little back story? Okay. My entire life I, and others in my family, have had trouble with our digestive systems. It is not uncommon for us to experience an uncomfortable moment. Lets be real, we are borderline potty-emergency-aholics. Hearing someone say “I need a restroom” is something that does not phase us. Waiting forever for that person to return is no biggie either and can easily be dismissed with a “my stomach is upset”. On top of this I am a sucker for a fart joke. There isn’t one out there that is not funny to me.
My youngest sister lives in a different city than the other two of us so we were compelled to take a road trip to see the newest movie in the Twilight series so that we could see it together. I know, dorks. Lame excuse for a weekend getaway, too. Oh well. We had a great time though. We got lost on the way down, almost ran out of gas, scared ourselves silly by thinking horror movie thoughts about giant spider webs, and got to snuggle our niece without the interruption of our boys. We stayed up late gossiping over beers, slept in, and finally got to geek out together watching our favorite Emo-teen vampire couple with some hot ass wolf children thrown in. It wasn’t like staying at the Ritz in the Caymans but it was fun, and comfortable.
Time to go. We have a 6 1/2 hour car trip ahead of us and I am starting to feel the first pangs of the stomach abuse I had been participating in all weekend. After two days of drinking and eating grease (without thinking) and a bucket-o-movie popcorn the day before, my body was about to punish me with a violent lesson in diarrhea. Think American Pie or Van Wilder. I, of course, think I will be fine (surely there is a bathroom on the road), and keep right on abusing with a Mc Donald’s sandwich. I guess I totally forgot the almost running out of gas on the trip down because there was nothing for miles. Gotta love road travel in the Midwest!
We are about an hour and a half into our return trip and my stomach does the internal belching with the ever lovely excruciating pain that I am all too familiar with. We always joke that having the trots is a lot like labor in that the cramps come in waves you can breathe through for a while before eventually something must come out. So I am doing Lamaze in the passenger seat and my sister is noticing now, how embarrassing. She assures me we will stop at the first chance as I am clenching and twisting next to her. Stop! Pull over! I just can’t take it any more!
She pulls to the side of the little two lane highway we were on, I fling open my door and the door behind me, whip down my jeans and BOOM! Holy crap! Just in time. I am doing the cha-cha on the side of the road hanging on for dear life by the door frame. She was busting a friggin’ gut and out of the kindness of her heart, through her tears, threw me the Kleenex box from the back seat. I ended up laugh/crying, got myself together and thanked the Good Lord it was Sunday and all of the residents of this tiny nowhere town were in church. Otherwise I would have been thrown in jail Roscoe P. Coltrane style for defiling the ass high weeds on the side of the road. Wouldn’t cha know there was a gas station only a mile and a half up the road!
Yep. That did the trick. I feel better already. Nothing like a little humor at my expense to brighten the day. Swear you won’t tell anybody?
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