The Big #2.
And apparently, they don't do that in public. Ever.
This brought me a chuckle and I shared a funny one with her. Which led me to realize I have many humorous potty stories.
And since I'm pretty much an open book, I thought, "Why not, I'll share it here!"
It is, after all, something everyone has in common. No matter who you are, how much or little you have, everyone goes.
Tim laughs at me regularly because I keep a schedule. I won't apologize for my colon keeping a predictable pattern. As long as I'm home that is.
Although funny to read the text, I could sympathize with the sender because I know how it feels when you need to go and don't have the facilities you're accustomed to. After years of hotel stays for work, I can relate; because anytime my routine gets off kilter, I come down with a case of traveling constipation. But, my tummy knows the instant I return home.
The Poop Rock
Noah shares my privacy need for a privy. One year, when we went camping and actually roughed it (think boat, tent, private island), he was panicked at how and where he could make a deposit. Tim helped us build a makeshift potty, lovingly referred to the "poop rock" for the remainder of the trip. It had a comfy seat, because who can squat comfortably and accomplish anything. And a handy stick to hold the TP.
Road Trip Runs
Spring Break 2009, was our first vacation after losing Austin. Not even five months after we lost him, we wavered many times at not going anywhere; but, on some level, something pushed to us go. Purposefully, we picked a location we’d never been to and one close to home, in case we changed our minds in the midst of it.
Being so worried about us getting through it though, I literally made myself ill and we had to stop at every. single. exit. so I could use the restroom. By about the fourth or fifth time, I began feeling guilty, figuring the stops were ruining our trip but the guys began to laugh. Then I did too. Pretty soon we were making potty jokes at every road sign and Noah was eager to count how many toilets we’d see in one day. We all three sat in the truck rolling in laughter about my explosive intestinal issues.
Not wanting to leave anyone out in the family during this share-fest, I cannot forget about hubby. Especially since he has one of our funniest potty stories.
Tim's joined the fire department when he was 18. Other than a forced hiatus, he's given over 30 years of service. And oh, the stories he could tell. This is one of our favorites, better told by him but I'll do my best.
Being on call 24/7, you have no control when you'll be called out. Or, when you need to go.
This didn't always mix well, especially during the season of Tim's gallbladder troubles. If you've ever suffered, you'll know that when doody calls, you must answer.
At the scene of a house fire, it hit. Though Tim was in the midst of helping tear down a kitchen ceiling to to ensure the flames were extinguished, he had no choice but to make an exit. Knowing there was a bathroom nearby from the walk-through, he made a dash for it. I can only imagine the shifting of air packs and bunker pants to accomplish that task!
In his words, "I poop on myself for nobody."
And yes, they saved the house and contained damage only to the kitchen.