I like your sweat pants.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of my life. Seriously, this is the story of my life. Seems that most of my stories revolve around one bathroom experience or another. Curse you irritable bowel.

Submitted: June 24, 2013

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Submitted: June 24, 2013

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Late into my pregnancy with my oldest daughter I had a bout of the stomach flu and had been housebound for days. I was beginning to feel better and thought that I could make my way out into the word again, so we planned an exciting trip to the Dollar Tree.
I should include that back in "those days" (14+ years ago) maternity clothes consisted of oversized pink t-shirts that featured teddy bears with clever sayings like "expecting a baby"...as if it wasn't obvious. Thankfully, my husbands closet and now seemingly overly relaxed style consisted of an endless array of sweat pants. So for those last few months I spent everyday in high-style...in a pair of his sweatpants. I'm sure there are pictures of me floating around the web somewhere as I shopped at Wal-Mart.
ANYWAY, we spent our time carefully scanning each aisle, amazed at what a buck could buy; porcelain bunnies, porcelain people, porcelain elephants...back then, the Dollar Tree cornered the market on porcelain figurines. THEN, without warning came that familiar rumble of my stomach. It wasn't my precious baby kicking, but my inner alarm sounding, telling me to get to the bathroom NOW!! I ran to the bathroom, attempting to turn the knob, but it didn't turn...THE DOOR WAS LOCKED! I turned and saw a sign that read "key for restrooms at check-out"...WHAT!?! Panicked, sweating, then freezing, then sweating again, I squeezed cheeks and attempted to make my way to the cashier...but it was too late. Ugh, the embarrassment!! I now had to confess to my husband that I had...an "accident". He took it well, as well as he could have, I suppose...but make no mistake, he still had some purchases that he wasn't passing up. We non-chalantly worked our way to the front of the store, careful to not draw attention...not that my walking like I'd spent the week-end riding rodeo would be cause for question.
When we got to the car, I sat on my coat and some paper like a good girl. My husband, had a good laugh at my expense and so kindly said to me "I can't believe you crapped your pants". In a brief moment of redemption, I smiled and said "I didn't crap mine, I crapped yours.


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