My lovely wife decided to read my post about getting pooped on and added this nugget:
Your Lovely Wife: But I was so glad that you called me at work seconds later with the [bird pooping incident] play by play. And don’t forget the time you pooped on yourself running down the hallway at our old apartment (I am pretty sure you have already shared this story on your blog, and if not, well you better get on it, baby)! This is what happens when I have time to read your blog…
There you have it as the cat’s out of the bag. I can’t be the only one to experience this sort of unfortunate control event. My wife and I were moving from a one bedroom apartment downtown to our first home in West Seattle. Needless to say we were giddy about our new pad. It was a big deal come moving day as the next time we’d unpack our belongings, we’d be doing so in our own house.
Our apartment included a storage unit at the end of the hall. I had some stuff to retrieve from said storage closet. It’s very very safe to say I was gassy because of something I ate. That’s the excuse I use all the time, but my wife claims air gives me gas. I beg to differ. A gassy bum is something that happens when I get excited. I’m not proud of it… ha, who am I kidding. Anyways, I was "planting" bombs all over the place and giggling like a 10 year old boy on a sugar high. I was out of control and my wife was likely second guessing the exchange of vows that took place in Hawaii the year before.
Then it happened. I ran down the hall, skipping like a fool. I push again. Oops! This time something not so great went down. Yep, went down. I stopped in my tracks. I glanced back at my wife, she looked at me, a smirk swept across my face. My body did a 180 and my strut had to be modified right then and there. The legs were wide apart, afraid to bend the knees for fear of things getting worse. No words were spoken as the smirk jumped from my face to hers. I hung my head, entered our apartment littered with cardboard boxes, and went straight to the bathroom. For some, their epiphany is a speech by an inspiring person. For me, it’s about never skipping in an apartment again.
Let’s hope my wife doesn’t hint at other stories. I’ve got enough material to share without her ramming these unflattering stories down your throats. Who does she think she is? The boss of me?