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 The Family ShamePosted 10.12.2006 by love2poo (20)
This is a coming-of-age story about a naïve young girl who assumes that shitting your pants happens to other people, but not her.
Yes, her is me, and I am finally coming forward with my Shameful past. I have been reading PoopReport for a few months now, and I have to say that I have been a little intimidated to post my own. I am not a master of words as some people here. I cannot write so eloquently about my poop as other PoopReporters do. With that said, I hope you still keep an open mind as you continue reading.
I am definitely a Shameless Shitter. I will drop trou anywhere -- public bathroom, boyfriend's parents' house, porta-potty, you name it and I'll shit there. The strange thing is that when I was five, I would only go in my toilet at home. Sometimes that meant pissing myself (I've always been a morning shitter, so luckily I could do that before school) on the walk home from school. And when I say "sometimes," I mean most of the time. Once I got over that fear of other toilets, I was blessed with the ability to go anywhere. But though I am a Shameless Shitter and proud of it, I am not proud of myself when I crap my pants. It was the summer of 1993. I had just turned eleven and I was at Indiana Beach with my aunts and cousins. I would go every summer with them, and this was the third year there. The last day of the trip arrived, and I woke up at about eight AM. I lay in bed for a little while because my stomach didn't feel right. It didn't hurt; it just didn't feel right. I figured that maybe if I went and tried to squeeze a log out that I would feel better. I threw the covers off the bed that I was sharing with my cousin. Wearing only a t-shirt and pair of underwear, I started walking to the bathroom (which was not far; we were in a hotel and it is definitely not a hike or anything to get to the bathroom). As I walked, I coughed. Mistake number one. I coughed and shit spurted out of my ass. But I kept walking like nothing ever happened. I got to the bathroom, shut the door, and began to freak out. My immature eleven-year-old brain could not comprehend what had happened. I had shit all over my underwear, and if my cousin found out she would use it as ammunition against me. I had to think quick. Well, as it turned out, I had plenty of time to figure out what to do. My ass began exploding and it was as if my asshole had a mind of its own. I sat in the bathroom for about thirty minutes, shitting my innards out. When it was all said and done, I still had a shitty pair of underwear and a stanky bathroom to have to deal with. Here was what I came up with. The bathroom had one of those baggies for dirty clothes that I wrapped the defiled underwear in. I then decided to throw the underwear outside in the public garbage can by the stairs. Mistake number two. In order to make it to the outside garbage can, I had to do the walk of shame through the hotel room and face my family. I wrapped a towel around my waist and, with my head held as high as it could go after that experience, I walked through the hotel room with my baggie of crappy Underroos, mumbling an excuse about forgetting something at the pool. I then placed them in the outside garbage can. I got back in the hotel room and was immediately greeted by the stench of my ass emissions. I think my family was plotting against me, because once I got back in the room all talking stopped and all eyes fell on me. I blamed it on the chilidogs the night before. There were no excuses, though. My ass had stunk up the whole room. But I was okay with them knowing I took a major shit and stunk up the room. I just didn't want them to know I had shit myself. A few hours went by and checkout time arrived. We left the room and started walking to the front desk. On the way, we had to pass the garbage can that I had thrown the evidence in. Now, keep in mind: we are in Indiana in the middle of August. It is hot. It is humid. Flies love hot, humid, and shitty underwear. We walked by the garbage can, and it was buzzing with flies. A good hundred or two. Not only were there flies, but there was the aroma that hit us like a ton of bricks: my chocolate highway pollution. I could see my family gagging for oxygen as we walked past, and I could see them start putting the pieces together about why the garbage can smelled like ass. Nobody came out and said I shit myself and threw the underwear in the garbage can, but they all accused me with their eyes. I was mortified. At age eleven, I couldn't deal with the embarrassment. If it happened to me now I don't think it would be a big deal; but back then I couldn't get over the fact that I was eleven and had shit myself like a little baby. And that my family now knew my secret. Unfortunately for me, no one in my family thinks pooping and farting is as funny as I do, and at that tender young age they made me feel bad about it. For that I will never forgive. But thirteen years later, I still think pooping and farting is funny, and I would never make my daughter feel bad for shitting herself. She is now five, and she thinks pooping is awesome. Many a time a turd torpedo has been proudly shown to Mommy, and I know one day I will be able to tell my daughter about the time Mommy shat herself. And I'm sure one day she will have her own poop report to share with the world that will make Mommy proud. Post new comment
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