When I was about eight years old, while at a church picnic with my family, I crapped my pants. (Yes this is going to be that kind of story). To set the mood, this wasn't one of those pants crapping moments where you tried to sneak a silent but deadly and ended up sharting on yourself. This was an — I ate too much Taco Bell and literally spewed all over the place.
The embarrassing part isn't the pooping on myself in a very public manner (we've all had those moments in our lives, hopefully..no? just me?). What makes this hoodoo worthy is what happened when I tried to hide the, um, evidence.
At eight, you haven't developed your "hiding crap from mom and dad" (both figuratively and literally) skills that is perfected in your teenage years. At this point in life, when the stuff hits the proverbial fan, fear of being caught forces your movements to be more frantic than precise.
So, here I am, little bammer, standing in a rundown bathroom (there was only one men's bathroom at the picnic site) with liquid goo in my pants. What do I do? Forget asking for help, I got this. For starters, how about trying to slowly slide off your whitie tidies...Oh, that just smears the poo all over your legs? No biggie, just have a seat on the toil....BAD IDEA. Now the mess has spread.
At this point I'm freaking a little and people are knocking on the door. QUICK, wet some paper towels and clean yourself off and flush away the problem. Whelp, the toilet is now overflowing? What to do? I've got shite filled undies in the trash, a toilet that is "cleaned" to an eight year old standards, which, by the way, is now stopped up with 500 wet paper towels and your pants have a huge crap stain in the back. NAILED IT.
The next thing I hear is my mom at the door,"Um,
Lyell bammer, honey, you OK?
Feeling like I've done a fairly good job with the clean up, I open the door and basically here's my mom's reaction...
Apparently, my attempt to hide the mess was less than satisfactory. There may have been some excrement on the floor, perhaps the wall and definitely some left over on the toilet.
My lasting memory is sitting in the back of my parents car on the way home, in-between my brother and sister, with the crapped filled undies in a plastic bag just above my head in that little ledge in the back window.