Thirty Seconds Too Late
Editor's note: This was submitted as a comment to the story No Poo For Seven Days.
I came here because I haven't been able to release three days of heavy meals into tangible rectal waste.
My boyfriend and I were kindly invited by our Chinese friends to stay at their place while we visiting China. There are three to four people in the apartment and one bathroom. ONE, as in there is a sink, a toilet and no separation between the these two from the shower area. The shower head is mounted on a wall, and there is a drain, right beside the toilet.
My boyfriend and I did our best to be considerate, by taking quick showers (sometimes showering at the same time) to save hot water and time, so that we didn't hog the bathroom. But short showers were not the case for one of our friends. He averages at 20 minutes, and tonight, he decided to stay in 30 minutes because the hot water helped his stuffy nose. But his shower was 30 seconds too late for my poor boyfriend.
About ten minutes into our friend's shower, my boyfriend's stomach lurched. His eyes darted to the closed bathroom door and he started giggling. Five minutes later, the giggling eased into whimpering, as he lay on his back on bed holding his stomach. The next ten minutes he appeared to the most agonized; he paced around the room, opening and closing our door just to peek at the still-closed bathroom door, which was greeted with colorful language he hissed through his teeth.
As he paced around the room, I knew that bathroom door wasn't opening in time. I looked on the floor at a cardboard box of crackers and pulled out the last stack. I ran to the kitchen for used grocery bags and then lined the box and propped it up on the floor. He looked at it hesitantly, but had no choice after his stomach screamed obscenities in the form of bouts of grumbling. I handed him a tissue box, he closed our bedroom door, and then I looked the other way and plugged my nose as he straddled the box.
I heard him say something about the box ripping under his weight.
When the damage was done and his giggles of embarrassment subsided, he left the apartment to throw it out, at which point the bathroom door opened; our confused-looking friend was asking where my boyfriend went. I sat on the bed, just laughing. I left the door open for air, and our friend walked over to the room, unable to recognize the steaming stench that never touched his clogged nose but invaded every bit of his unsuspecting mouth.
When my boyfriend came back, our Chinese friend, still unaware of how much stank he was inhaling, asked where my boyfriend went. He cleverly responded, "Just taking out the trash."
Unaware of the double-entendre, our friend sat looking at us for a better explanation while we burst out laughing. I ran around the room yelling, "Perfume!" and spraying my fragrance everywhere I could in-between laughs.
While I did this, my boyfriend shyly replied to him, "I just made some garbage and had to take it out."
"Made some garbage?"
Thus is the art of "shitty" euphemisms.
I'm still waiting for my turn.