AnonymousCoworker

Over the holiday I was reminded of a story by my brother. It’s a little on the scat side, so I know some of you won’t have both hands on the keyboard.

When I was a little kid, we had a plastic sliding board in the back yard. At the time, the sliding board seemed so high that I felt like I was in outer space when I was at its apex. I’m sure that same sliding board would now only come to my knee. Regardless, I was having so much fun sliding down the slide that I was completely disregarding nature’s call. Up the stairs, down the slide. Up the stairs, down the slide. It went on for hours.

Suddenly I felt a knocking at my Superman undies and I knew that I had just been entered in a race that I was sure to lose.

I bolted for the door, but being such a little kid I was having trouble working the latch. I couldn’t get the door open. I pleaded for my older brother to help me, but the siren’s call of a sliding board he didn’t have to share must have been to strong for him to resist. So I went back to trying to open the latch, while simultaneously banging on the glass of the storm door. I feel like I remember ounding on the glass for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally my grandmother came downstairs and opened the back door and I ran inside. As I ran up the steps I could feel a distinct weight in my drawers, and I could feel the rythmic swaying of that weight as I went up the steps.

I rounded the corner in the kitchen and made a beeline for the bathroom lest anymore weight try to creep out of me. I pulled off my underpants and heaved them into the bathroom with disgust. I must have been really disgusted because I heaved so hard that the underpants, and the unfortunate smelling load within, hit the shower wall with a thud. I was happy to be out of those messy pants, and I was happy to have the sliding board all to myself as my grandmother yelled at my older brother while she cleaned up my mess.