I saw some comedy the other night with my brother and sister, and one of the comedians talked about pooping his pants. He said shat, which I think is a more manly word; a little more aggressive, like the whole thing wasn’t a horrible mistake. He explained how it happened in his car on the way home from a few meetings where he had some strong coffee and a fruit shake; he said he wasn’t sick, he just didn’t make it back fast enough. I liked him right away.
After the show we stayed to meet him, the comedian, and the first thing I said after introducing myself was that I too had once pooped my pants. My sister jumped in to quickly point out that, haha, everyone poops their pants when they’re a kid, but I continued, No no no, it was when I was older.
You know I have to stop here for a minute before I go on.
I don’t drink much. I just never got into it. I can count on my hands the number of times in my life that I’ve bought a bottle of something or other. It seems weird when I think about it, like I must be exaggerating, but I’m not. I was a bartender, so that could have something to do with it, but really I didn’t drink much before that. I just don’t like the taste. I don’t drink much but I have something in common with people who do: I occasionally blurt out things that are inappropriate/odd/inconsequential and then stand in the shame-silence where you hear a pin drop.
Yes, I’m like a drunk person.
I don’t drink much but, of course, I have been drunk and on one of these times I pooped my pants. I was still in college with my boyfriend at the time, who was actually incredibly sweet and kind (although I do remember a lot of laughing and Oh Jesus-ing) and it was a testament to his character that he didn’t leave me in the bar bathroom/street corner/subway where it happened all the way home.
Anyway, this is what I said to the comedian, except that I didn’t tell him the whole story. When he asked me why I pooped my pants, how it happened, I said: I was drunk. Boom. Silence. Crickets. Awkward slow motion head turns. I think my sis even said Oh well, like she was trying to help me out, but it was too late, what was done was done. Now I was on my own. Now the guy probably thought (sadly) that I was a professional, a sad, smelly, dried out old bag who hangs out in bars down on the east side of Wilshire.
Maybe he said to himself: She should have used the word shat.