WARNING: This post contains details of experiences which would preferably happen only in the bathroom–your own bathroom. Reader discretion is advised.
I’d like to be classy. I remember that when Brian and I first moved here and I was working at the candy store, Liz Barnhardt commented to me how funny her family thought it was that Brian and I were married when we were so different. She said that I was “so classy” and Brian was so…….I’m not sure what she said about Brian because I was just so excited to have been described as classy. Come to think of it–I’m not even sure she finished the sentence regarding Brian. I think she just laughed and let her thought hang. I didn’t misunderstand her; I knew they loved Brian. But apparently they were amused with what an unexpected pairing we were (are) and ‘classy’ just happened to be the adjective that came out of her mouth in an attempt to illustrate our different natures. Unfortunately for me, I’m confident that ‘classy’ was not the word she was thinking of. But what was she going to do? She couldn’t correct herself at that point…
But ANYWAY….because I would love so much to be classy, I’m largely disappointed in my desire to share with you the following experience. It is not a classy experience and sharing it with you is even less classy. But the fact is–it happened. And it is the kind of story that typifies the conversations of my childhood. Shameful, I know. In fact, this experience has brought back many a memory of my siblings and I sitting around making up additional verses to the song referenced in the title to this post. (I’ll refrain from using the actual word, so as to become a little more classy.) OK. Now I’m worried that I may be wrongly incriminating one or more of my siblings. I guess I don’t specifically remember who was there with me all of those times; but at the very least, Scotty was. So anyway….
While I was on vacation visiting family, I caught the same bug that many of my family members got–the main symptom of which was a bad case of the runs. And I’ve been ‘running’ ever since, if you know what I mean. So on Saturday night, I made a trip to Fred Meyer to get groceries for the week. And about half way through my shopping, I got a little surprise…Let’s just say I was spending all my money and I felt something runny. I’m not even joking. So I turned my cart around and headed for the bathroom, where I discovered that I indeed had a mess in my pants that in two places had already leaked through the linen pants I was wearing. And unlike the time when I wet my pants two days after Jane was born while I was day-after-Thanksgiving shopping, I did not have a sweater to tie around my waist. What in the heck was I going to do? I straight stripped off my g’s, washed them in that nasty public toilet, wrung them out, and stuffed them in my pocket. I wasn’t even carrying a purse to hide them in! Then I turned my pants around and put them on backwards, hoping that I’d be more successful at hiding what I needed to in the front than in the back. No luck. The fact that my pants were on backward was much more obvious than the fact that I should have been shopping for Depends. So anyway, I put my pants back on the right way, washed my hands good and well, and headed back out to finish my shopping. Lucky for me, it was about 10 o’clock and the store was mostly empty. By the time I got to the register, my bulging pocket was wet and I was worried that the cashier might ask what was in it. Seriously. What would I have said? My soiled g’s, sir.
Oh, my heavens. The whole thing was horrible. But a good story–at least for Scotty. Do they even let you tell those kinds of stories up there, Scotty?
Anyway….other than having caught that bug, my time with the kids in Vegas and Utah was really great. More on that later…