Unlike that other diarrhea story that was posted recently
(Editor's note: he's referring to this one, I think), mine *does* involve something running down the leg. We've all been there, I'm sure: when you're in a public place and you sneeze or cough and a little wet one slips out into your trousers. I'm assuming everyone else does exactly what I do in that case: head straight for the bathroom and survey the damage.
This particular occurrence was at a large shopping mall near where I live. Usually, after the obligatory damage control, I wipe the personal area, scour the backside of the boxers best I can with a wad of toilet tissue, check the back of the pants in hopes that nothing permeated the shorts and left an external skidmark, and I'm on my way. On this particular occasion, though, the marking of the drawers was particularly bad, so I decided it was prudent to head straight home ASAP, as another blast could very well overwhelm the absorbency of my boxer shorts, leading to the aforementioned and severely dreaded external skidmark.
Unfortunately I missed one thing -- something I didn't notice it until I had already pulled the drawers and jeans back up, zipped, buttoned, and departed the bathroom: a line of moisture had become noticeable on the back of my leg. How I missed this before, I have no idea; only thing I can figure was that I was so preoccupied with the primary area which might be marked that I failed to pay proper attention to the secondary back-of-the-leg area. All right. So far, no big deal. Get home, clean up -- we've all been there. It's really not that big a deal, right?
Except that Murphy still makes the laws, and he knew he had me by the short and curlies this time. And this was the day that two of the finest-looking young women that I've met over the course of the last year just happened to be walking into the mall, one right after the other.
The first young lady was an especially attractive young lass from one of my Library and Information Science courses. She saw me and said hello, and although normally I would be delighted to talk to this young woman, it simply wasn't the time to stand around and chat about classwork and assignments. You see, while the drawers themselves seemed to be capable of more or less handling the stench of even a fairly vile wet one, pants legs and (most unfortunately) socks don't seem to have the same capacity. Luckily for me I have a reputation for being blunt, and so at the first cue that she might have noticed something, I sort of whispered, "Sorry, I've got a bit of a bad stomach today."
To which she politely said, "Oh, I'm sorry, if you need to get going," and excused herself from the conversation.
And then on to train wreck number two: the very hot girl with whom I used to work at a restaurant some time back. This young lady has since gone on to become a Hooters waitress, and she is almost as blunt as I am. After exchanging pleasantries, we made some small talk until she finally gave me a funny look, crinkled up her nose, and said, "Bob, what the hell is that? Did you shit your pants or something?"
Yeah, that's what every guy wants to hear from a hot chick. Once again I looked sheepish, explained, "I've got a bad stomach," and we parted.
Since that day, I've run into those two repeatedly, and although they never mention my bad smell, I do notice they don't seem quite as glad to see me.
So the moral of the story: if you cough or sneeze and end up shitting your pants a little bit, make sure you remember to wipe the back of your leg.