Fellas, I'm in a little bit of trouble here. I won't lie to you, it doesn't look good. I don't think good old Hossman is going to make it out of this one. I'm a bit stuck and I don't see anyway out of it. I'm praying but I don't think anyone is listening. After this I'm going to have to move and change my name to Lady Underwall. I will make tea cozies and serve guests crumpets.
That's the only solution because there is no way I'm going to be able to walk out of this bathroom unshamed. They say that when a hopeless situation rises that sometimes you the world goes into slow motion. That everything around you becomes almost a dream and is fuzzy. I do not find this to be the case, not at all. As I sat in the bathroom I could hear everything, clear as a bell. The laughing, the joking, the very food being eaten. Everything was crystal clear as well as the outcome of it: I was screwed.
We had accepted the invitation for lunch gladly. We didn't have any family in town and it was a holiday. Friends invited us over to spend the afternoon with them. The kids would play, we would eat and talk. It was to be a great afternoon. However, it did not appear that I planed for it very well.
That morning was Easter and with Easter comes Easter eggs. As it so happens, the kids love finding Easter eggs. They love counting them, they love coloring them and hells yes do they love peeling the shells off of them. They just don't like eating them. So as not to waste what was given, I of course began eating them. It appears that some of them may have been hidden for far to long. And now I find myself in a bathroom paying the price for celebrating with my children.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the bathroom wasn't directly off the kitchen. If you open the door, you can actually see who's cooking what and have a conversation with them. If it was just Dad's around, I may have tested this theory. But as it so happens, there's only me and another Dad here. And our wives. His wife I know and have talked to but we have not crossed that threshold in our relationship where I can openly tell her "Hey, I got a turtle head here. I'll be back in a minute."
But this couldn't be avoided, thanks to the bounty of Easter eggs that my kids found. And because of them, I was doing things in that bathroom that could be described as an abomination. I don't want to get to graphic here, but it wasn't pleasant, even for me. And because the bathroom was so close to the kitchen, I was a bit freaked that everyone could actually hear what I was doing in the bathroom.
I did all the normal tricks. I turned on the faucets to mime like I was just taking 20 minutes to wash my hands. I turned on the fan and thanked the gods that it was loud. I tried to turn up the radio on my phone so that even that sound could mask the delivery that was coming from me. But it was so close to the kitchen, it was so close to the dining room, I was sure that everything came through like it was in HD. And I'm also sure the three courtesy flushes was a pretty big tip off.
I don't like pooping in other people's houses. I don't like pooping around women. I don't like pooping around other women's houses on Easter Sunday. Sometimes though that choice isn't up to you and that's how I find myself totally and utterly screwed.
I know that I can't stay in here forever. Eventually I've got to come out. If I don't then my wife will knock on the door and ask me if everything is ok. I'll lie but she'll see through the lie and then ask me if I want Immodiam AD or perhaps a nice hemoroid cream because at this point, that would only add to the utter embarassement. Then she'll explain to our hosts that her hubby has a little "tummy problem" and it may be a while before he comes out. They may want to get a priest to cleanse the bathroom with holy water after I am done, teehee. Suicide is looking like a pretty good option.
But I'll come out eventually, the coward's way out is no way out for me. And when I come out, what will follow me out will make children cry and maidens join the nunnery. I'll bow my head, eyes downcast as I do my walk of shame. They'll hear me apology through the echo of my footsteps as I make a beeline to the door, never to be seen again.
My feet start dancing as I begin to ponder my situation. I tap out songs that I know, perhaps those will help me. I read the back of the soap bottle, perhaps some insight will be gained by reading instructions of how to wash your hands. I open cabinets within reach. I count the tiles on the floor and see if they make any interesting patterns.
What I need is a distraction, something big. I have my phone on me and consider texting my wife: Have a bad poo. Set house on fire. Will explain later.
But I know she won't, she'll only come to the bathroom door and I'll get the speech. I also consider calling the police department and seeing if they can give me the number of their Hazmat team. Surely this would qualify as a toxic site.
I hear my friend's wife start cleaning dishes in the sink. I'm sweating and panicking. Hopeless. All is hopeless.
But then I hear footsteps. Running footsteps. I hear raised voices, confusion. Then quiet. Everything and everyone is quiet.
I take a deep breath, a pained one, and prepare myself to leave the bathroom. I turn out the light, open the door and walk out to face my shame and ridicule.
There is no one there. There is no one in sight. There is not a sound coming. I have been left alone, free to leave the dragons hold without so much as a glance. And it stinks to. A different stink than the foul smelling cloud coming from behind me. It's not me that stinks, but it is somehow familiar. I have smelled it before. I know what this is. I know where this comes from.
The minions! I have forgotten totally about the minions! Trained exclusively by me for the last 3 years. Day in and day out of constant lectures of how the Lord Dad is your only concern in this world. Do thy bidding and thy will be rewarded! The minions have given me my much needed distraction!
I walk around the house and head upstairs. There I find the minions, my wife, and our gracious hosts. Everyone is laughing but holding their noses as well. My son is laughing, my wife looks like she is about to gag as she takes his pants off. My daughter is running around going Yuck
My son has crapped his pants. God almighty, he has laid the greatest distraction a father in need could ever want. It's makes me smell like lavender on a spring morn. And he's laughing, cackling as Hossmom attempts to take the underwear to the upstairs bathroom. No one even notices that I am there. The minions, god bless the minions.
And that is how my son earned his trip to Disney world.