Antigeist

The definition of chivalry

During a drive out to meet a boyfriend's parents for the first time, I shit my pants.

I'd had a sick feeling in my stomach all day, accompanied by a great deal of flatulence. I knew why: the night before we'd closed down the bar, had a wee-hours greasy-spoon breakfast afterward, no proper sleep, and a looming dinner invitation with his folks--all known causes of intestinal turmoil. So when we were driving along and I felt a bit of familiar pressure, you know, down there, I decided to release some of it--discreetly--and hopefully gain some relief. Id the window, raised one cheek, and let her rip. And then shit my pants.

I wasn't sure at first. I hoped it was just the heat making my ass feel wet. I scooted forward and looked at the seat. I was sitting in a puddle of liquified crap. "What's up?" asked boyfriend. Sadly, sitting in a puddle of crap isn't one of those things you can hide or pretend didn't happen, like blaming a killer fart on the stagnant bog you're driving past (which was my original plan), so I was forced to answer, "Um...I totally shit my pants."

Amazingly, he didn't flinch. He said Nawww! and I said Yep and he said Honestly? and I said I have never been more honest about anything in my life.

"What am I going to do?" I asked.

We discussed our options. First, the drive to his parent's house was just under an hour and we were nearly there, and running late, so turning around and going home was not an option. Secondly home--where I lived-- was in civilization. The destination we were nearing, was not. Therefore finding a chain store or somewhere I could both clean up and buy a change of clothes was also out of the question. Our only hope was a gas station on the corner of the main road and his parent's street.

He ran in, came out, mouthed the words no bathroom, then ran back in, and reappeared shortly thereafter with a liter of Dr. Pepper. Neither one of us drank Dr. Pepper, and as far as I knew Dr. Pepper isn't like seltzer in the arena of stain removal, so I was confused. I'd heard of people having Pepsi enemas (the only appropriate use for that drink in my opinion), but I had obviously emptied my bowls quite nicely already. "What's that for?" I asked. "Trust me" he said. I didn't press it. Normally I'd be more of a control freak. I'd demand to know how a bottle of sugar-syrup has fuck-all to do with solving my pants-shitting problem, but he was being such a good sport about soiling myself in his car...and anyway, whatever he'd come up with could not, in a million years, make the situation worse.

We pulled up to his parent's house, and parked. Hed the bottle, took a sip, and poured the rest of the container out onto my lap. Before I could react to, or process the addition of a new sticky wetness saturating my underwear, he exited the car, ran into his parents house, and re-emerged with his mother; who was carrying a bottle of orange cleaner and a roll of paper towels.

As they approached, I began calculating the number of years of therapy it was going to take to rid myself of the stranglehold this --the single most embarrassing moment in my life-- would have on my psyche. I was at nine, no eight, no, nine years, when his mother reached me, and the puddle of Dr. Pepper I had deposited on her driveway. "Oh! You poor thing! He's even clumsier than his father, if that's possible. Let's get you inside. I'll find you something to wear and we'll throw these things in the wash, hmmm? And you," she said to boyfriend, while handing him the orange cleaner and the paper towels, "clean up this car."

"I'm really sorry. I'm such a klutz." He said. And he winked.

Having someonethe door for you, or help you with your groceries, or bring you chicken soup when you're home sick in bed are all really, really great things. But purposely spilling a vile, sticky substance all over their own car so they could take the fall for being a clumsy idiot who (the story goes, put his soda on the dashboard before making a sharp left turn) potentially ruined a young woman's garments and her chance at an all-important good first impression, and in so doing create a frenzy of activity designed to focus attention on the clean up of the mess and getting the (victims) soiled garments swiftly into a washing machine before anyone is the wiser, all to cover up for the fact that she mistook the rumbling in her ass for a day-old beer fart and because of which shit herself en route to a dinner party, AND remain calm throughout, even knowing he had just brought a feeble-bowled drunkard home to meet his parents...

Well that's just about the nicest thing ever.