When You Have To Poop At A Friend’s House…

It all starts out casual. Your child gets invited to a playdate and the mom has wine and cheese set out for all the other parents. Pretty much best mom ever, ammiright? So everyone’s laughing, and sipping, and you swallow that third bite of brie when it hits. The urge. You look around. It’s okay. You’re okay. You smile, everyone’s still laughing. No one notices that small bead of cold sweat now working it’s way down your forehead. Maybe it’s just gas, you think. Do you test it? Better not…you can never trust a fart. Someone notices a look on your face…”Are you okay?” You smile. “Actually, where is your restroom?”

YOU DON’T KNOW TRUE FEAR UNTIL YOU HAVE TO POOP AT A FRIEND’S HOUSE

“It’s down the hall, to the right,” someone says. You excuse yourself. Stand. They point and nod.

Your gut clenches. Even though you know no one is in there, you knock. Let yourself in.

You look around the room. Things are about to happen to this room. Your friend has a seashell motif going on. Beautiful, soft blue towels. Seashell soap. A cute little rubber ducky sitting on the edge of the tub. There’s a picture of the Footprints in the Sand story hanging on the wall. Pretty much the cutest bathroom you’ve seen in your life…didn’t she say earlier they just renovated?

Again you think, maybe it’s just gas. You sit and the small tinkle starts, followed by a second of confidence. You’ll be fine. This doesn’t have to be a catastrophe. You probably just had to pee. Then IT happens.

1. It IS just gas – not such a big deal. You’ll turn on the fan, wave your hand, and close the door on the way out.

2. Okay, that’s not so bad – maybe you just poo a little. Like, nothing major, you finish up, go back and join your friends.

3. Your first poop ever – this one is terrifying. It’s like you’ve never gone before and everything is leaving your body all at once. It’s awful and noisy and, “OH GOD! CAN THEY HEAR!?!?”

Seriously? Can they hear you? I mean, you can hear them. Someone just giggled. They’re giggling about you, you just know it. And you’ve been in here forever. They know what’s going on. Everyone always knows. Then…the smell hits. A light whiff at first, like you’ll be able to make it through this, but then…something must have DIED INSIDE YOU.

If you even open the door, they’re going to smell. You look around for air freshener, but your friend doesn’t have that. She took the time to fill her bathroom with ocean decor and she couldn’t take one flippin’ second to find some sea breeze air freshener?!?!?!

Panic.

You wipe. Flush.

It doesn’t go down.

Nooooo…it’s actually coming back up.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!

Maybe you can crawl out the window? Yeah, it’s big enough. You’ll just go home, pack a bag, and move out of state.

But then you remember your child – your first born, love of your life, is in the backyard. Running away is not an option.

You grab the plunger from beside the commode and plunge like your life depends on it. “C’mon,” you beg. “Just go down. JUST. GO. DOWN.” One. Two. Three swift plunges and finally…the waters are receding.

A knock on the door. “You okay in there?”

OH HOLY…deep breath. Putrid, smelly breath. “I’m fine. Be out in a minute.”

You want to flush again, but you know they’ll hear.

So you turn on the water in the sink. Full blast. It splashes out and onto your yoga pants. Head hung, you flush one more time, before finally turning the water off.

Nothing else can be done. The war has been fought…and lost.

You come out and apologize. “Sorry, my husband texted, we’ve got to go.”

A lie. And you’re never coming back.

Not ever.

Not after what that poor, defenseless little rubber ducky just went through…