Frankly, I’ve had a lot of luck with farts over the course of my lifetime, and, not to brag, but I’m a pretty good farter, socially speaking. I mean, I know how to gently eke one out in public situations to see how it’ll develop, clamping down quickly if it’s too voluminous or odoriferous or loud. Or, alternatively, letting that sucker rip if my audience is my 9 year old boys. I got cocky, I guess, is what I’m saying. And my successful farting career lured me into a false sense of security.
Never trust a fart, they say. But I did. I did trust a fart, and this is my story.
I’d been feeling a little low the day it happened. A little down. A touch under the weather. But nothing terrible, you know? Nothing AWFUL. And, honestly, if we mamas stopped what we were doing and put our sweet selves to bed at the first sign of sickness, the world would stop spinning. Literally. Mamas stopping for the sniffles or a little tummy upset would cause a shift in the space/time continuum, or a rip in the fabric of reality,or California to slide into the ocean. Mamas do not stop for “a little” anything.
So even though I was a smidge sick that day, and slightly gaggy, and my insides were rumbly and tentative and uncertain, I proceeded with my day. Got the kids to school. Dressed (badly, in clothes that smelled like cheese) for work. Used dry shampoo. Spent my time wisely at the stop lights, throwing on make-up, smearing on mascara, and plucking chin hairs. And I went to work. Like a responsible person. With responsibilities. Who’s responsible.
Yes, I was gurgly.
Yes, I was nauseated.
Yes, I had a tiny case of the urps.
But not run-to-the-bathroom sick.
Not go-home sick.
Not STOP-THE-WORLD-I-WANT-TO-GET-OFF sick.
Just queasy.
Ignorably queasy.
So I kept my sushi date with Jen. Because a) Jen is good times and I love her very much, and b) SUSHI. It’s delicious. Even when I’m urpy. Delicious, I say.
And, mid-convo, I trusted the fart.
Just a little one, I thought.
A poof.
A puff.
And so, with a little subtle squeeze, I tested the farting waters.
And I got… farting waters.
Not a poof.
Not a puff.
That little push I thought was air, was not. And the clamping at which I was previously so accomplished? DID NOT WORK.
I looked at Jen, and to her I said, “Please pardon me. I must use the rest room. To potty. For a minute. Or two,” and I scooted off my stool, (my stool — no pun intended), while eyeing it surreptitiously to make sure I’d left nothing behind, because inspecting one’s stool before leaving for the bathroom isn’t suspicious at all. And I simultaneously prayed to Jesus.
“Dear Jesus,” I said, “I just pooped my pants,” because if I didn’t tell him, how would he know? And if he didn’t know, how would he keep it from soaking through my jeans? “And, DEAR GOD, if I’ve ever done anything useful in my entire life, please, please, please, please, please do not let it soak through my jeans.”
Thus I waddled to the potty with excellent and rigid posture and hind end out ever-so-slightly so as to not exacerbate the issue with unnecessary rubbing, and I arrived at the toilet to discover the mystery that awaited.
Here’s what I need you to know, friends: I have CLEARLY lived an extremely righteous and worthy life, and Jesus loves me to the moon. Or at least he loves me to the potty with poop-free pants, because when I arrived, I discovered the damage was to panties alone. TO PANTIES ALONE, friends, so TAKE THAT, Atheist, Godless Friends. (Ryan, hear me now…) GOD IS ALIVE AND ACTIVE IN THIS WORLD! I rest my case.
In conclusion, I suggest you avoid that sushi restaurant off the freeway by the big, new, fancy shopping mall. I hear patrons of that establishment discard their panties in the trash and have terrible theology.
Sincerely,
P.S. I’ve been reluctant to tell you this story, lest you think I frequently poop myself. I told you about the time I pooped my closet. And now I’m telling you about the time I pooped the sushi restaurant. I swear, I don’t often poop myself. SWEAR.
P.P.S. Please do not send me religious hate mail for this post. If Mr. Trump can receive the endorsement and support of prominent Christian leaders, then my Poop Theology Proof of God is totes legit in current faith culture. Amen, friends? A-effing-men.
24 responses to “Never Trust a Fart. This Is Why.”
This is down right hilarious I busted out laughing. This is a very good reason to keep in mind to never ever trust a fart even if it’s a little piff or puff or what ever. You never know when you will poop your pants!!!!!!
Not to worry sis. It has happened to the best of us (me), too.
I am not the first, nor the last, I imagine, to poop my pants. It doesn’t get any less embarrassing, does it? Except maybe when you put it on the internet for the whole world to laugh at. You are one brave woman. And yes, I’m farting up a storm as I write this.
You have made me laugh so hard that tears are running down my leg. It is a miracle! Hallelujah!
O. M. G.
SO funny. (I’m sorry — you know I’m laughing *with* you, not *at* you, right?!?)
It’s funny, although I normally read everything you write, I actually *didn’t* read this initially. I have an admittedly bizarre aversion to the term “fart” (I know, go figure, right?) so I’d just skipped past it when I’d gotten the email. But just now, after reading your newest post, I went backwards and ended up reading this after all and I’m SO glad I did.
This actually happened to me too recently, although luckily right in my own home so other than having to change clothes and rinse them out and keep waiting for my husband to ask me what in god’s name I had done that required clothes rinsing, all was well. But it was mortifying to ME and I’m frankly relieved to hear from others that it’s not an altogether unheard of problem! 😉 Love you!
I’m reading this as I am at the tail-end of an episode of food poisoning. Tomorrow I have responsibilities that take me away from home and back out into public again. I hope God loves me enough to keep my panties clean! Maybe I’ll tuck a change of clothes into my bag, just in case.
You are not alone. Try having the same thing happen at one end of Target and you have to walk all the way through the store to get to the checkout line, where you hope (and pray!) that no one can smell you before you quickly pay and go home!
Oh my gosh! You made me laugh out loud…three times. This is awesome! And so honest. And I KNOW it’s happened to more than one of us. Thanks for sharing!!
Your experience was definitely craptastic!!
So, your “the time I pooped my closet” story is what originally brought me to your blog…Not even sure how I found it. I think someone posted about it on Facebook or something and I’m a mom of 4 boys so I CERTAINLY had to read a story titled “the time I pooped my closet”, if you know what I mean. Well, that story did not disappoint. And I’ve been an avid reader ever since. I’ve laughed at your blog. Cried. And everything in between. Today I laughed SO HARD that I literally cried. Like, legit tears and everything. OMG! died. laughing. Your caution to the wind in writing is a large part of why I LOVE reading your blog. Thank you, for sharing your worst moments. They make my life. <3
let me just say…there is only one bathroom in my house…with only one toilet. and someone else was on it. Thankfully, there was a trash bag (miraculously with no holes) in the waste bin. I quickly took out the trash and no one was the wiser. I hope.
This made me feel so much better….I recently (two weeks ago) had a terrible cough. And everytime I coughed, I peed. Just a little. I had the sense to wear a pad as I went to the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, I had a terrible coughing fit while trying to communicate to a really mean nurse that I was there to get my cough checked out. And I peed. Not a little…more like Niagra Falls. And got up from the chair, leaving Lake Victoria behind me for the whole world to see. The worst part was not having a change of clothing handy…it should be noted that it is the only time since toddlerhood that I have wet myself for the whole world to see…
OMG! Beth I LOVE YOU!!! I have pooped myself before, but it is a VERY boring story, so I’ll share…I was at home, and I was ONLY wearing a THONG! Waiting for hubs to come home from work for a quicky before I had to go get the kids from school. I felt perfectly fine, but had just eaten really spicy lunch… What he found was brown driplets on the carpeted mad dash to the potty and me on the potty with brown driplets on my socks, cuz somehow, it totally missed my every-so-tiny thong of USELESS underwear!!! (REAL sexy huh???)
So, moral of my story: NEVER, EVER,EVVVVEEEERRRR trust a fart after eating spicy food, and get REAL undies not freaking “Oh he’ll these are sexy thongs”. They are both USELESS and you will poop the floor on the way to the potty cuz you just can’t clench tight enough!!!
Oh honey… I’m so sorry to be laughing, but the giggles are sneaking out.. well, like a non-fart. XD
My worst story:
I was feeling ill, but like you, have responsibilities. At the time, one of them was a cantankerous little pony who loved to stand up and neigh in a way that sounded exactly like laughing, while watching small children slide backward off her rump.
So I went out to take care of her, and found a scene from a horror movie. Blackberry had managed to catch her eye lid (thank GOD just the lid-no damage to her eye) on a nail. It was gruesome, and looked, my vet assured me when he arrived, MUCH worse than it actually was.
So there I am, holding her head while he took care of the damage, when I felt suddenly, irrevocably sick. I had to walk out, leaving him mid-stitch with a tetchy pony. I promptly lost it in the yard… from both ends.
Thank God my mom was there (yes I thanked God a lot this day) to hold the pony’s head for the now-tetchy vet, who thought I’d just sicked up at the sight of blood. I wasn’t about to tell him it was more than just fainting maiden syndrome. I went inside and showered to get rid of the evidence, and spent the rest of the day heading for the bathroom at the tiniest pressure, with the same results, but thankfully not in my pants. UGH. It was a sneaky stomach bug- I didn’t even *feel* that bad. It just tackled my intestines like a footballer, the rotten jerk of a virus.
The happy ending is- the pony was fine in a few weeks- not even a scar. Tetchy as ever. Vet bill was mercifully reasonable. (I love my vet.) And I survived the embarrassment, just barely. :-p
I’m with you. I never, ever trust a fart.
I had an experience like this in the midst of a 90 minute public transport journey. God even looks after the agnostics on this one – only on the underwear. I was also lucky that I knew the location of the (well-maintained restrooms) and I had a pad in my bag so was able to clean up and make it home. Not a pleasant experience. You would think it would make me do my pelvic floor exercises more often, wouldn’t you? Thank you to you and some of the commentators above for letting me know I am not the only person who has suffered this indignity!
I have a serious poop story. SERIOUS. Someday I’ll share it with you. In person. 😉
Someday, if I am ever so brave enough, I will share my poop story too. Until such courage develops, I will just be thankful for your confession! It is so funny and so understandable. Thanks for sharing.
I love that you can be this real (and funny) and we all love it. I tend toward being majorly open like this, and my family (husband, sisters, parents, but not my son because he’s only one) HATES it. I get yelled at all the time. :/
My family loves – loves – when I start shouting your posts out loud in my kitchen but have to stop every few words because I am snorting – gasping- incoherent with laughter. No, really they don’t. But omygosh I do!!!
This was so funny, especially the last paragraph.
Love love love this. The thing I love most about your blog is your realness. No excuse this is me realness. I appreciate it and relate to your blog posts so much. I think most of us if being honest have a story similar to this.
Oh. Man. Horrific. How did you manage to get out of there? Go commando for the rest of the meal? Make your excuses and wait to get your meal boxed? Make your excuses, throw money at your friend, and run?
Beth, I love you so much. That is all. 😉
Ditto! 😀