The Time I Bombed Target’s Bathroom

It was my time of the month and I was out of tampons so I ran to target to get some. Immediately after I bought them I need to use them, so I made my way to the women’s restroom right behind a Target employee. She went into a stall and immediately ran out of it like a monster was peeking out of the toilet so I decided to not take my chances and go in a different stall. When I got in there and sat down I realized that I also had the period poops.

The super stinky, how-can-my-body-hold-so-much-crap poops.

While doing my own thing, I heard two other girls enter and use the bathroom. Suddenly, one of them says, “My toilet won’t flush!” To which the other replies, “Mine won’t either!” Then I hear an employee explain that the toilets aren’t functioning and that the bathroom is being closed for maintenance.

So the obvious response is to pray and pray that my toilet is the exception to this restroom breakdown. It wasn’t.

I tried to flush the mess I had just made but the water level started rising higher and higher. I did the fastest hand washing of all time as I heard the toilet water and all the contents that I had just put in there start to splash on the floor!

I ran as fast as I could out of the bathroom to the exit while yelling “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” to the employee with the mop bucket entering the now-bombed bathroom.

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The Time I Pooped On My Husband’s Wallet

One night my husband had a few friends over for a D&D game night (someone else needs to be embarrassed besides me in some of these stories). Feeding 5 or 6 men in their 20’s is no easy task, so I decided to go grab some pizzas from the nearby parlor. I took my husband’s wallet with me instead of my purse so I could carry all the pizzas by myself. After getting the pizzas and coming home, I needed to poop (no way!). I had the wallet in my back pocket when I went into the bathroom, but I didn’t when I was done. When I dropped my pants to sit down, the wallet came out of my back pocket and fell into the toilet! I didn’t even realize what had happened until I turned around to flush and thought I had just pooped a square.

I had to fish the wallet out from under my waste and toss it into the bathtub so I could wash it off with the handheld shower head.

Seeing the humor in what had just happened, I called my husband over to have a laugh and asked him to not tell his friends. He got a look on his face I hope I never see again, and ran down the hallway screaming, “Anna just pooped on my wallet!”

Next time I won’t even tell him.

Not that I’m guaranteeing that there will be a next time…

The Time I Pooped On My Fiance’s Car

Kind of. It was a little over a week before our wedding and my fiance decided we needed a serious break from wedding planning so we took a picnic trip to the beach. It was a beautiful day of relaxing in the sun with our cell phones off and our feet in the sand.

It takes about 2 hours to get home from the beach, so we left mid-afternoon to be back by dinner. Now, I don’t know what I ate, and I didn’t want to blame my then-fiance for food poisoning, but about half way home I got the serious bubble guts.

Like major, I-can’t-risk-a-fart belly bubbles.

Well between the beach and home there are only vineyards, orchards, and empty dirt fields. No rest stops. I held it until I couldn’t anymore and absolutely had to stop. I couldn’t even run away from the car before dropping my pants and even if I did, there was nowhere to go! We had stopped in the middle of endless rolling hills with only foxtail stubs to hide behind.

So I squatted as close to the car as possible as the poison forced its way out of me and my fiance shoved paper towels out the window for me to clean up with. Only one other car seemed to be on the road that day (thank goodness) and I hope they found my situation more humorous than appalling.

Finally empty of whatever would have undoubtedly killed me, I got back into the car to regain my composure. It was hard not to laugh at the situation, especially when the wind picked up and blew the used paper towels down the deserted road like contaminated tumbleweeds.

There’s no escaping the indignity.

Then the low fuel light turned on.

I swear we drove 100 miles before we saw any building at all let a lone a gas station. But we made it, and my gut made it.

And we still got married.

Just imagine it: poopie paper towel tumbleweeds dance serenely down the barren highway.
Just imagine it: poopie paper towel tumbleweeds dance serenely down the barren highway.