You know when someone says “I hurt myself laughing”/”I almost fell off the sofa in hysterics”/”I literally howled at this”? Well, they’re usually just phrases aren’t they? Yes you read something funny but actually physically hurting yourself? Hmmmm… Guess what? When the Island Living 365 #OopsFiles submission by Emma landed in my inbox, I actually did all of those things. I snorted so hard and so many times that I actually hurt the inside of my nose about half way through reading and had to take a break. Nope, not making that up for dramatic effect…actually hurt the inside of my nose. (By the way, it’s only about the second time in my blogging life that I’ve had to read a blog post in two stages. Seriously, I challenge you to actually read this all the way through in one sitting without pausing to get your breath back or give your abdominal muscles a rest.) I then resumed reading, howled, startled my husband (he’s never startled) and then kind of slid off the sofa onto the rug mid howl. The only thing missing in this whole scenario is the mention of “I wet myself laughing”. All I can say is, I’ve had three kids; my bladder is not what it once was. So I guess that answers that one then. Talking of nether regions, things are about to get worse…a lot worse.
So when the lovely Prabs asked me if I would write something for the #OopsFiles series my first reaction was to run and hide. I mean I have a lot of embarrassing tales, a plethora if you like. What’s the saying? “I have a list as long as my arm” except my arms aren’t unusually long so that saying really does not convey just how many embarrassing tales that I have. I mean every day, I embarrass myself. Every. Single. Sodding. Day. To stop myself from becoming a nervous wreck, I have blocked most of them out. However, for the lovely Prabs, I have agreed to revisit some of these tales again.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Apparently when I was young, I’m talking 4 years old, I liked to leave a calling card whenever I went somewhere new. Yes, that’s right every time we went somewhere, I would promptly ask to be excused so that I could go and use the toilet and leave a massive dump. I know. I was a classy four year old. I guess I saw it as a creative expression, a way of leaving my mark on the world. I left massive poos in some very auspicious places, from the vicarage to our local supermarket. I wasn’t fussy, as long as it was new. One day my Mum and Dad announced we were going to go round for a cup of tea to our lovely elderly neighbours that lived at the back of our house in the biggest bungalow I had ever seen. I was convinced that because they lived on one floor, they must be indeed very posh and therefore a very worthy recipient of my calling card. It had been drummed into me that I should behave myself. I was not to touch the pretty ornaments nor was I to climb over the antique furniture. However, no one had told me that I couldn’t go to the toilet. So soon after arriving I made my excuses to go to the toilet.
Oh what a glorious posh bathroom it was too. A huge corner bath…fancy! Gold taps…even fancier. And all in glorious avocado…and hang on…what’s this? A toilet with taps? Ooooh, triple fancy!! So I sat on this new lovely toilet. Praising myself on finding the latest posh toilet. Oh my bottom was in for a treat. After curling one out, I struggled to locate the toilet paper and then realised that it was sat on the ‘regular’ toilet. I carefully wiped my bottom. I liked to use a lot of paper to make sure that I was clean, I’m not an animal you know! I deposited it in the ‘posh’ toilet then looked for the flush. Only there wasn’t one, just two taps. So obviously I turned them both on but instead of taking the poo away it started to fill up, my toilet paper blocking the plug at the bottom and now my poo was swimming dangerously close to the top. In fact it was close to breaching. I quickly switched the taps off and took the approach I still take today. Just roll with it, all will be fine.
When we got home I found myself desperate to share with my mum the posh toilet that I had used. On telling her my story, her face visibly whitened before she shouted “oh shit” (yes quite apt really) “you did a poo in their bidet!”. I have never seen my Mum move so fast. She dashed back round on the pretence that I had left something in the bathroom. Again quite apt as indeed I had left something. On arriving, she was ushered in by the elderly gentleman who looked a little shaken. She went into the bathroom to find the lovely old lady wrestling my poo out of the bidet. Now that I am sharing this story, I realise that actually this is far less embarrassing for me and more embarrassing for my mum. We were never invited back round.
So important was this poo event in my life that I have never been allowed to forget it. It has obviously scarred me for life too because when I was in labour, I spent the whole time shouting at the midwife, “i haven’t done a poo have I??” I even kept sending Mr C down to that end to check. No, this story is the one I’ve not been allowed to forget, despite several more embarrassing things happening later in my life. Let’s not discuss the time I was queuing up in Primary school for my lunch and I was desperate for the loo. They were serving shepherds pie but I wasn’t going to lose my spot…… Only after I had finished every last morsel did I admit what I had done. Don’t worry it wasn’t a poo! Then there was my first date with Mr C when I had my tongue piercing (call it a late rebellion for not being allowed to have my ears pierced when I was a kid). I got my risotto stuck on my tongue piercing, then spent the whole meal pulling strange faces, (which was rather alarming for Mr C), as I tried to get the risotto off my piercing but instead I ended up flicking Mr C in the face with risotto. Then to top it off, I realised I had forgotten my purse so couldn’t pay for my half. Now you know why I keep banging on about us being married 10 years this summer…it’s a miracle!
No. despite lots of daily embarrassments, my parents still love to reel out the poo in the bidet story. So much so that as I was just about to walk down the aisle to get married to Mr C, my mum informed me that she had just seen my dad’s speech and it was all about my poo in the bidet. So when I was saying my vows, instead of being in the moment I was worrying about shit instead. Story of my life really. I really should spend less time worrying about random shit because it really does all work out in the end. We just need to roll with it, bidets and all!
If you’d like to take part in the #OopsFiles Guest Post series click here for details.
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