Ok, I was asked, so here is my gross story. (or 2)

*Warning in advance- if you are eating or nauseous, come back later. If not, read at your own risk.*

So after reading The Sarcasm Goddess's gross story and commenting I had a doozy too, she asked me to share it to the interwebs. So here goes.

Das Bear and I had been married all of a year and a half, and had moved 3 times already.  I still considered us Newlyweds, because we hadn't broke the fart barrier yet. (you know, when you finally comfortable passing gas in front of a loved one...) We had moved from a tiny (3 total rooms) apartment to a GIANT apartment to a smallish apartment in the basement of a local complex.  The layout was such that the door was on one end of the rectangular living room and the hallway on the other end. At the end of the hallway on the left was the bathroom. This was the setting for the breaking of the Newlywed status. However, as I normally don't just break barriers (I obliterate them...) I unintentionally scarred my husband for life.

I had been in quite a bit of pain. I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and tend to run toward stopping up as opposed to the other option. My belly was distended so much I looked pregnant.  It was all I could to just crawl from the living room couch to the bathroom and give it "the ol' college try." For days I had not been able to poo.  We couldn't afford for me to go to the doctor so I began experimenting with options.  I drank this horrible concoction from Walgreens that's supposed to make you- let's say Unconstipated.  No dice.  I laid on my stomach to see if that would get things moving. Nope.  Apple Juice, Cranberry Juice, even exlax. Not happening.

By day 7 I was miserable. Das Bear finally decided that if I didn't have some relief by the time he got home from work I was going to the ER.  Now, you don't know it, but the ER is my LEAST favorite place to be. I'd rather wait miserably at my own house as opposed to waiting miserably in a crowded waiting room. It was my "come to Jesus" moment. No, I didn't pray, I got creative.

I got out the Vaseline, and couldn't locate the rubber gloves. (You all know what's coming next...) I sat on the toilet and got to work. I spent 2 or 3 hours trying to clear my impaction. Finally it happened. A moment after I got the impaction out (the hard way) the bathroom door opened. I hadn't heard him come home, but there was Das Bear with possibly the most grossed out look on his face I have EVER seen. He backed up, closed the door and silently walked away.

Only later did he tell me what he saw.  He opened the door to his beautiful bride sitting on the toilet crying, and smiling. What grossed him out was the fact I was also holding (in my bare hand) a softball size ball of poo. (I may have also been sighing happily as my bowels emptied.) There was crap streaked up both arms from fingertip to elbow. (How did it get up to my elbows?) And I may have been laughing maniacally. Now mind you, when I finished on the toilet I got right in the shower, but he didn't hug me for almost a week, and he's never looked at me the same again.

That's when I knew he loved me, because he eventually let me touch him again, and the whole incident has become a funny story we tell our friends (and apparently now the internet.)

On a side note, a few weeks later he had a hilarious run in with my mother. He tends to be naked whenever we are alone at home and she tends to walk in and make herself at home. He came out of the bedroom into the hallway as she headed down the hall to the bathroom. Now imagine the most awkward and embarrassing collision EVER. And add him getting racked in the bare jewels by her knee. Yep. That happened.

So I guess I just told my first poo story here, and have obliterated the wall of good taste. We'll see where this goes.

To breaking barriers and unimpacting poo.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady