Another disgusting evening at Chez McGee

It did not start badly. In fact, it was very pleasant. My kindhearted neighbor came over to prepare my dinner and stayed for a very nice visit. Marsha has five children so taking care of my dinner needs was a snap for her. She offered to do more -- showering, bathroom, etc. -- but I'm not yet prepared to make her a potty pal. Fortunately for her.

Because.

Oh -- before you read further, let me warn you this is one of those ugly entries that contains nastiness. You of delicate sensibilities may wish to avert your eyes. Those of you who remember me from classier times please do not let this account tarnish your memory.

To continue.

Because.

I didn't make it. AGAIN.

I was sitting in my bedroom, writing e-mails. Suddenly I was uneasy, I felt a gurgle. It hit hard and it hit fast, with no warning. I couldn't move. When I tried to get up, I lost control. Fortunately granny panties are sturdy and held fast (I do believe they are made of lightweight iron). Step after precarious step, I made my way into the privy and plopped -- fully pantied -- onto my poor potty. There perched, I pondered my predicament. I could not think how to remove my poop-filled unmentionables without befouling my bathroom or totally alienating my child. The solution finally came to me: cut each side and let the offensive garment drop into the toilet. Cecilia, though horrified and disgusted, came to my rescue and did the handiwork while commenting that I might need a diaper.

The bidet was no match for this atrocity. Very gingerly I stepped into the shower (note to self -- one of the grab bars needs to be tightened) and pulled out the big guns. Not for the first time was I grateful for my detachable shower head.

It's amazing how resourceful one can be under desperate circumstances.

I guess it's true -- shit happens.

End of story. Thank you for listening. Now, go to bed, and pray you do not feel a gurgle...