SHIT!

shit facepigtails SHIT!

By Jean Marie Black

There are a lot of horrible things that can happen to a person. If we thought about them, we’d never leave our houses. A person can be tortured and murdered, a person can be pulverized into a smear of blood and ground bone if an elevator door malfunctions. You can go out to buy cat food and get killed in a head-on crash by some shit-faced asshole who crosses the yellow line and plows into you head-on at 85 miles an hour. You can accidentally have your scalp ripped off if you work in a factory. Or, you can be a grown-up person, an actual adult, and inexplicably just shit your pants like a common baby. It is this fear that concerns me most.

I honestly didn’t know this could happen until I was about 37. I thought not shitting your pants was like riding a bike; once you learn, that’s it, you’re good to go. But then some people I met at an improv theater asked me to join the new sketch group they were starting called Sketch-Up! (Get it? Like the condiment, only it’s comedy!) which, I’m guessing, is the world’s most overused name for a sketch group and a sign that those involved have no business doing comedy and should immediately shift gears and look for jobs as gravediggers in a for-children-only cemetery. Anyway, at the first meeting of Sketch-Up (the only meeting I attended, by the way), I arrived on the doorstep just in time to hear through the door the two other females in the group gossiping about me and how old I might possibly be. Once I entered the apartment, things got a whole lot worse because it was here that I would learn that adults sometimes shit their pants.

In a “let’s get to know each other” go-round of “what’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?” both of these worthless coozes revealed that they had shit their pants at the mall because they ate a fucking hamburger. Yup. They ate a hamburger and it was such a shock to their salad-ravaged systems that their body involuntarily blasted a pile of feces right into their dumb, unfunny pants…at the mall. Are you kidding me? You wanna know how old I am? I’m “ha-ha you shit your pants in public, asshole.” THAT’S how old I am!

Even though I loathed these two bitches, they had successfully planted a fear seed in my mind. Could this ever happen to me? I mean, they may be vapid cunts, but I’m sure they have bowel control. Right?? These girls may be nothing like me personality-wise, but our assholes are probably made of the same materials, so if theirs could just give way, does that mean mine could too? I tried to reassure myself with the thought that I had eaten both burgers and salads interchangeably over the years with no explosive and socially damning consequences, but still…this was now officially a concern that I had to drag around in my brain bag. I mean, you can probably avoid a scalping by not wearing your hair in a long ponytail if you work in a factory with big machinery (see above), but everyone has to eat. And they have to do so multiple times per day! What the fuck?!

Years passed. Years in which I ate whatever I wanted and over-drank on many occasions and never even came close to adult pants-shitting. My fear subsided. So much so, actually, that I would use this fact to puff up my ego when I was down, telling myself that, well, at least I had never shit my pants as an adult. The storm of needless worry had passed.

Well, until last year, that is, when another tale of sudden, involuntary, adult pants-shitting was told in my presence. This time, it wasn’t some delicate, female salad-eater, it was a full-grown, 40-something man, an intelligent grown-up! With a law degree! Who made his living as a day trader! If anyone were capable of avoiding the humiliating sting of public pants-shitting, surely it was him. If he was not safe from it, who is?! This time, however, the blame could not be laid at the foot of a hamburger. No, this time the culprit was the supposedly healthy ol’ watermelon. This gentleman had visited his parents in Ohio; and, just before leaving for the airport to fly back to LA, his practical, Midwestern dad had ordered him to help finish up all the watermelon so that it didn’t go to waste. He obliged his father and then while driving around the airport in his rental car, the unthinkable started to happen. He had to illegally park and run into a terminal, sprinting to a bathroom before it was too late, but apparently missing that window by just seconds and shitting his pants just outside the men’s room. Oh, and he was wearing chinos; the beige kind. Sure, I laughed along with the others as he told his story; but inside, my brain was sweating profusely and pacing around in a renewed panic at the reminder that yes, oh yes, involuntary adult pants-shitting CAN and DOES happen.

How do you psychologically bounce back after something like that? How do you ever trust your body to be taken out in public again? How do you ever forget that THAT, yes, THAT happened?

It’s official. I do not know how people go on after their child is murdered, and I do not know how people go on after they shit their pants. The human psyche cannot possibly be that resilient.

 SHIT!

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  • Anonymous

    Beautiful! Watermelon is a danger in large volume. That being said, I actually shit my pants once. I was lying in bed, reading a book and feeling a fart coming on, let it go. It wasn’t a fart but a teaspoon of shit. Thankfully my ass recognized “not a fart, not near a toilet!”. I sprinted to the bathroom and let the rest out. Me and my ass are good friends.

  • Anonymous

    Those pants-shitters are just weak or passive-expressive. Don’t worry. (Hilarious, by the way.)

  • Phil Mundies

    I can’t stop masturbating.