I will be be posting a collection of stories about myself that I would classify as either embarrassing or things people probably don’t know about me. In no order, but the order they come to mind. And unfortunately the first one that comes to mind is probably the worst and most embarrassing one of them all.
My elementary school was about a 1/4 of a mile from my house, roughly 3 or 4 blocks away. Anyone who knows me knows that I really enjoy the home court advantage as it pertains to bowel movements. I mean if it comes down to it, I’ll hover in whatever bathroom it comes down to, but if possible I’ll hold out for the home court. As this story will show, this trend started early for me.
I’m probably in 2nd grade, because I was walking home from school alone, by 3rd grade my brother would have been in 1st grade and I’d be walking home with him. I recall feeling that sense of pressure low in my stomach that signalled, even to a young 7 year old, that there was impending business to tend to. Yet, with such a short walk to the aforementioned home court advantage surely the risk was worthy of the potential reward. So I set my pilgrim’s course toward my butt-mud Mecca.
About half way there the cramping became intense. So much so that I started the heels-off-the-ground walk indicative of a person whom has just realized that his 2nd grade education did not accurately prepare him to calculate the proper Speed= Distance/Time equation necessary to make this journey.
Along my route home I only knew one kid from school whom had house. However, the one, and only, time I interacted with this kid in front of his house he had threatened me with his foam nunchucks, so I couldn’t risk both soiling myself, and getting beat down by a kid whom obviously possessed greater martial arts skills than myself. His house also represented the half way point of the trek. With this mental milestone in hand, my body gave me a physical reprieve.
My stomach had stopped its churning and I was able to walk normally again. Now, 25 years later, I know what this means… My body was just fucking with me. It likes to lull me into a false sense of confidence, only to laugh it’s ass off when it makes it’s even more powerful return moments later.
I reach the point where I can see my street. I am only one block away. Seriously, I can fucking see my street. But my colon doesn’t give a shit. This bad boy is coming whether I like it or not.
I’m not proud of it.
I don’t tell this story to brag.
In fact it’s pretty damn embarrassing.
That’s right I did it… I pulled my 7 year old pants down and dropped a load right on the palm tree in front of the house I was at. And it was GLORIOUS! I was still reveling in it’s sweet release when I heard the brakes screech on a car behind me and the honking of a familiar horn that soon followed. I turn my head to see… My mom. And not just my mom, but her friend and my brother were in the car too, all watching me shooting a torpedo off on a neighbors palm tree. In plane view of the whole street.
Can you imagine the shame my mother must have felt at that moment? Thinking you raised your son right, only to see the atrocity before her.
I’m sorry Mom.
{ 3 trackbacks }
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Fucking hilarious! I can picture it perfectly in my head!
Dude, I can remember you telling me that story back when we used to ride bikes to each others houses, my personal favorite short story about you is the Refridgerator story.
Thanks for the laugh this morning. I needed that.
I had to think for at least a minute to remember what the Refrigerator story was. This one is better.