How to Embarrass Yourself on the Internet (Sh*t Edition)
Self-Deprecation:
the act of belittling oneself
Post by Dani @ http://suburbiainterrupted.com
10:02 PM Last Night
Me to The Big Guy: Minor progress. Stressing the word minor.
The Big Guy to Me: Did you turn the fan on?
Me to The Big Guy: Are you right in the other room?!?!?!?! Of course I did.
Above was a text message conversation I was having with The Big Guy from our master bathroom, after my fourth trip in less than an hour. Between my weekend food addiction (formed after a hair cut massacre I received) and the lack of being able to use the bathroom during the week, I had (around lunch time yesterday) decided to take a laxative to help the now backed up shit along. I have never taken a laxative before so I read the directions on the box. According to those directions, I was to take two pills and in six to eight hours, I would no longer feel like a stopped up, pregnant looking, overweight skinny person. I was a little hesitant to put the pills into my mouth, but at that point I was out of options. I couldn't go. The shit was stuck, I felt miserable and The Big Guy was about to murder me if he heard me complain one more time about feeling like a fat ass.
I took the pills.
I figured that if all went according to the box, I would have dinner made, the kids would be eating and I could be peacefully taking a shit in my bathroom. The Big Guy would get home from work and to his surprise, I wouldn't be bitching about my bloated stomach and I would once again be in a good mood. I have learned over the past week that as the days of non shitting went on, my mood got dramatically worse. For everyone's sake, I needed to shit.
So I waited. Hours went by. Around 4:00, I nervously drove to pick my oldest two up from school. Since I had never taken a laxative before I was scared that it would kick in early and oh god, I am not near a bathroom when it does. My van still has that new car smell. I didn't want the smell of shitting ones self to become the van's newest scent.
Nothing.
Dinner time rolled around. I cooked steak for the kids, had an emotional breakdown thanks to said kids and had retreated to my bathroom as a hideout to escape. Still nothing. Six hours had now passed. Go time would be occurring at any moment. I realized during this time that I felt like a pregnant woman who had come upon her due date, only to still find herself pregnant. The box said six to eight hours. I was anxious and just really wanted to take a shit. I waited. The Big Guy got home from work. He knew by looking at me that the magic shitting pills had not yet gone into effect. I waited some more. 7:00 came and went. By this time The Big Guy was getting hungry and so was I.
So I made us our dinner.
"You think it is smart that I am eating, having taken those pills and not yet gone to the bathroom?" I asked The Big Guy.
Like he is the go to guy for these problems. First off, he is not the expert on laxatives. I have never before bought a box of these supposedly magic pills. Add in the fact that he can go at the drop of a hat. He may sit in the bathroom for an hour, but I know that 50 minutes of that time is him getting sidetracked on his damn phone. I don't get how guys can just sit on the toilet for more than five minutes. Usually (that is, when I am not backed up) I am in and out. I don't need ten minutes, let alone an hour. My ass would go numb if I sat there for that long.
"I am sure it is fine. You took the pills, now you are eating. Soon the pills will work and give dinner a place to go." he said.
So comforting that one.
I ended up eating. Half way through dinner, which at this point was close to 8:00, and closing in on the window of opportunity, my stomach began to hurt. I was excited. My feeling like a fat ass was almost over! I could wear more than a baggy t-shirt that I had been sporting for a couple of days now. I would once again feel like myself. I went to the bathroom, only to return a few minutes later. The Big Guy looked at me, giving me a thumbs up sign. "False alarm." I said and finished my dinner.
After a few more false alarms, my stomach was now hurting. It was cramping. It was rumbling. I felt horrible. At this point I was pretty sure that eating dinner was a bad idea. I was feeling miserable, The Big Guy was sympathetically laughing at me and I still hadn't taken a shit. I was convinced the laxatives were a complete and utter failure. I was complaining about the anorexic girls that you hear about popping twenty of these things at once. And god only knows why they would do that. My stomach was now hurting so badly, I was scared that something was wrong. Finally around 9:30 I told The Big Guy it was time to move our Monday Night Football watching to the bedroom. I was super pissy, super full of shit (and dinner) and just wanted my stomach to explode. At least the shit would be out of me.
Around 10:00 I got out of bed, finally thinking this whole magical pill experiment was now ending, that the shit had been loosened, moved or whatever the hell a laxative pill is even supposed to do. What I forgot to add into the equation, mainly because the time frame I read about wouldn't coincide with bedtime, was that now I was sitting in the bathroom and The Big Guy was mere feet away in bed. We have an open door policy when it comes to peeing, but there is no way I even want him to hear me in the bathroom when it comes to taking a shit. So I put on the loud ass exhaust fan to block any noises that The Big Guy could possible hear.
Minor progress. And seriously, when I say minor, I mean minor. I crawled back into bed, pouty and miserable, watched some football and fell asleep.
At 5:30 this morning, my alarm went off, I got up and started my morning routine. I had to make the volunteering rounds at the schools today, so I got dressed and did my hair before waking the kids up. I started breakfast, got the three kids dressed in their school uniforms, made lunches and walked to the bus stop. Still nothing.
And then I got home. The shit started flowing. Actually, I was now running back and worth between bathrooms because at this point The Big Guy is getting ready for work. He was in the master bath, I had to high tail it to the kids bathroom, which I usually avoid but when you have to go, you have to go. My magic laxative pills were finally working, just a mere thirteen hours later. Not the six to eight I was promised. Now I was panicking. What was I going to do? I had to be at the schools. I couldn't just cancel. The teachers are expecting me in the classroom. I couldn't take an imodium to all the sudden stop this attack that was now occurring inside my stomach. Just as my freak out moment was about to occur, the shitting magically stopped. I felt 30lbs lighter. My bloated stomach full of backed up shit was gone!
"Handsome" I cheerfully called as I made my way back to our bedroom. "They finally worked. I feel like me again!"
"So what you are saying is you just had a shit abortion? It all got expelled and the pills do in fact work?" The Big Guy replied. He is such a sarcastic smart ass (which is a big reason why I love him).
My volunteering came and went without an accident, although the cramping hung around and there were a few moments where I was looking for the closest emergency exits just in case I had to up and go without any notice. I am back to feeling like myself, pregnant looking belly gone and plenty of room in the old stomach for my rabbit food to go.
I have to say that I am still stumped as to why people would take these pills on a regular basis because let me tell you, the pain was horrible, the exiting shit wasn't pretty and you literally walk around constantly worried that you will shit yourself. Buying a pack of Depends crossed my mind more than a few times....
*After writing this, I almost immediately deleted if, for fear that it was gross to read and embarrassing. But listen, if you can't laugh at yourself and once in a while partake in self-deprecation, then really, there is no point in living. And the reality is, we all have to shit. Some of us just get clogged up more than others....
The Best Freaking Cramp. Ever.
I love sex, and lucky for me, still enjoy having frequent (most weeks) sex with the Big Guy. That being said, having sex while five children are roaming the house is sometimes a mission...
Saturday mornings are always hectic at our house-we are always rushing off bright and early to one of the kids sports games or practices. But Saturday mornings are also my favorite 'morning sex' days. I make sure I set my alarm a little earlier than needed in the hopes that Big Guy is up (no pun intended) to a morning quickie. This past Saturday was no different and after turning the alarm off, I woke up the Big Guy and we started getting busy-maybe a little too busy because at one point Big Guy whispered in my ear "shh remember the kids are already awake."
Fast forward to my morning routine (shower, hair, make-up) and Big Guy comes strolling into our bathroom as I'm midway through the make-up portion, smacks me on my butt and says "oh by the way, you had a cramp this morning."
"What?" I asked him.
"Well, the little kids heard you this morning and wanted to know what was wrong with you. I told them you had a cramp."
I turned around, gave him a kiss and said "well that was the best freaking cramp I've ever had."
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