In high school, I was at my friend's one fall day. We could have been doing any number of activities: playing NBA Jam on the Sega Genesis, playing ping pong in his barn, playing croquet in his yard, or shooting hoops. I just remember that his mom served us some spiced apple cider when we sat down in the family room.
It was time to go home, and as I ambled to my car and got in, I had a slight feeling that I would need to visit the toilet. The trip back to my house was less than fifteen minutes, so I didn't think much of it.
As I pulled out onto the main road from the side road that led to his house, the slight feeling became a sudden pressing urge. I could feel a wave of cramps that required me to consciously hold back what was brewing in my bowels. The feeling subsided, and I pushed a little harder on the gas pedal.
At about the halfway point, a harder and more insistent wave of cramps hit me. I felt like my upper half was fighting with my lower half, all while still trying to drive my 1984 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. I was definitely past any normal point where I would have immediately gone to a toilet if I had access. Thankfully, the cramps subsided, and I was able to keep my anus clenched and hold back the flood.
Less than five minutes from my house, I experienced a third wave of nearly unbearable pain. The time between waves was getting shorter. It felt like my intestines were clenched around a knife. I straightened both legs and used all my power to clench and hold back the tidal wave. I broke out in a sweat and nearly went airborne over some railroad tracks as I got within a minute of my house. I barely made it through that last wave. There was no way I could make it through another one.
I parked in the driveway and sprinted out of the car and up the porch steps to the door. I had my key ready to slide into the lock in case the door was locked, which it was. As soon as I got through the door, I made a hard left to the bathroom that was gracefully located right off the kitchen. There is no better depiction of what happened next than this classic cinematic moment in Dumb and Dumber.
This morning I went to breakfast. It was largely low-carb, but the timing and quantity of food departed from my usual routine. Ironically, the cafe is about the same distance from my house as my high school friend's house was to my mom's house. As I sat down in my car, I had the inkling that I would need to visit the toilet sooner rather than later. As I drove home, I had the same three waves of increasing intensity, and I thought I would not make it. The last wave took everything I had to stay clenched.
I opted to park in the front of my house because I didn't have time to wait for the garage door, and there was a chance the landscaper working on my neighbor's yard would be blocking my garage. My neighbor asked if he could park in front of my garage because he was threatened by a BMW owner across the alley who was slightly inconvenienced by having to make extra turns to exit his garage.
I entered through the front door and made a hard right to the conveniently-located second bathroom. I rarely use it for number 2, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Thankfully, I made it just in time to release my liquified bowels.
I can't speak to when I was a kid, but I'm happy to say I've made it to the ripe-old age of 45 without a poop-my-pants incident.
It was time to go home, and as I ambled to my car and got in, I had a slight feeling that I would need to visit the toilet. The trip back to my house was less than fifteen minutes, so I didn't think much of it.
As I pulled out onto the main road from the side road that led to his house, the slight feeling became a sudden pressing urge. I could feel a wave of cramps that required me to consciously hold back what was brewing in my bowels. The feeling subsided, and I pushed a little harder on the gas pedal.
At about the halfway point, a harder and more insistent wave of cramps hit me. I felt like my upper half was fighting with my lower half, all while still trying to drive my 1984 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. I was definitely past any normal point where I would have immediately gone to a toilet if I had access. Thankfully, the cramps subsided, and I was able to keep my anus clenched and hold back the flood.
Less than five minutes from my house, I experienced a third wave of nearly unbearable pain. The time between waves was getting shorter. It felt like my intestines were clenched around a knife. I straightened both legs and used all my power to clench and hold back the tidal wave. I broke out in a sweat and nearly went airborne over some railroad tracks as I got within a minute of my house. I barely made it through that last wave. There was no way I could make it through another one.
I parked in the driveway and sprinted out of the car and up the porch steps to the door. I had my key ready to slide into the lock in case the door was locked, which it was. As soon as I got through the door, I made a hard left to the bathroom that was gracefully located right off the kitchen. There is no better depiction of what happened next than this classic cinematic moment in Dumb and Dumber.
This morning I went to breakfast. It was largely low-carb, but the timing and quantity of food departed from my usual routine. Ironically, the cafe is about the same distance from my house as my high school friend's house was to my mom's house. As I sat down in my car, I had the inkling that I would need to visit the toilet sooner rather than later. As I drove home, I had the same three waves of increasing intensity, and I thought I would not make it. The last wave took everything I had to stay clenched.
I opted to park in the front of my house because I didn't have time to wait for the garage door, and there was a chance the landscaper working on my neighbor's yard would be blocking my garage. My neighbor asked if he could park in front of my garage because he was threatened by a BMW owner across the alley who was slightly inconvenienced by having to make extra turns to exit his garage.
I entered through the front door and made a hard right to the conveniently-located second bathroom. I rarely use it for number 2, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Thankfully, I made it just in time to release my liquified bowels.
I can't speak to when I was a kid, but I'm happy to say I've made it to the ripe-old age of 45 without a poop-my-pants incident.