Embarrassing Stories Are Often Funny As Hell

By Jennifer Lightburn

Writing is therapeutic.  I like that I can retrieve and print the thoughts that were wresting around in my mind… the good, the bad, and the ugly.  But even with the ugly, I can see the funny.  I can see humor in almost any situation.  Take this embarrassing story for example.  It’s probably one of the most humiliating moments in my life, but to me, it’s a funny story. 

I used to have severe intestinal issues.  (Yes, I have no shame J)  At any given moment I could drop a load, and I’m not talking about any load.  I’m talking about the kind that will make you walk like a cowboy. J 

I thank the good All Mighty that I don’t have those issues anymore, but I’ll tell you what, I damn near cleared out the Metro train when I let loose.  I quickly learned not to poot in public because there was no telling what would come out.  J

But that’s not even the embarrassing part of the story.  J  I’m at Macys trying to squeeze into a size twelve jeans, knowing a fourteen would be more appropriate and a sixteen would be comfortable.  And I feel a rumble.  I’d never felt a rumble before.  Typically, I’d blow without any warning at all, so I didn’t take this sign for granted.  J

I hauled it to the bathroom, pulled down my pants, bent over and let loose.  J  By the time I was done, I was saying, “Thank you Jesus.”  I turned around to grab the toilet paper and almost gagged.  There was (and there’s no more appropriate word) shit splattered everywhere.  Everywhere?  Everywhere!  On the floor.  On the toilet.  On the walls.  I actually looked up to the ceiling, there was so much shit.  And no damn toilet paper! J

And I couldn’t pull my pants up.  J  So, I opened the stall, made sure the coast was clear and wobbled to a stall a couple doors down.  My plan was to wipe my ass and then clean up the mess in the other bathroom. J

Then I hear the door open.  Damn!

I waited and waited for the person in the stall to leave.  After almost ten minutes of near silence, I decided to come out.  As I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror and noticed that the person who came in was in the stall that I’d blown up.

Out of all the stalls, this woman picks that one? I thought.

The stall door opens at the same time that the bathroom door opens. 

In the mirror I see a red-headed, thirty-something year old woman, and a toddler who is covered in poop. 

“What the hell happened to you!” the woman screamed at the top of her lungs, and the giggly boy who was standing there with poop in his hand, stared at her bewilderedly, and then started crying. 

I got the hell out of Dodge. J  I told my friend what happened, and he (being Italian) turned as red as the lipstick I was wearing.  Snorting and carrying on.  J

“I guess she learned that she needs to take her son to the bathroom,” he managed to get out between snorts.  J

After I asked the cashier to call maintenance, I LMAO too, as I thought about that poor kid!

You see, that’s a true and mortifying event in my life that is actually funny.  J 

Sometimes life can be emotionally draining, and that’s when you’ve got to laugh.  Writing and laughing (for me) is therapeutic.