There are moments in your life that are so singularly embarrassing that you have no choice but to vow never to talk about it. Until you write about it on your blog.
Before I get into the details of how poop ended up on my hand during sex, let me provide a little background information. (Now you may be saying to yourself, “Wait, what? The headline says you ‘found poop’ – not that you had poop on your hand during sex.” But just keep reading and I’m sure there will be a logical explanation for everything. Or there will be no logical explanation and you will never be able to eat brown food again without throwing up or picturing me having sex. By the way, you’re welcome).
I am a sleepy snacker, meaning I wake up in the middle of the night convinced that I am starving and need food immediately. I’ll rush into the kitchen and forage around like a grizzly bear at a state park. I usually go for crunchy foods like crackers or granola or sweet treats like cookies or chocolate chips. I know when I’ve been sleep eating because I’ll wake up with a bed full of crumbs or chocolate stains on my sheets or the frig door will be hanging open.
I’ve been caught eating a bag of chips and a pop tart at the same time (sweet and salty – yum!). And I’ve found half-eaten or half-chewed food in my bed too many times to count. I contend that this little habit of mine is why I’m not rail thin. Surely if Oprah’s talk show were still around, she’d have me as a guest and would help me face the fact that my sleepy self is hell-bent on giving me diabetes and heart disease.
So in the course of a week or month, it isn’t entirely improbable to find a smooshed chocolate chip melted to my leg or shoulder or crotch. I just lick it off and move on with my day.
This leads me to a morning when my fella and I were about to enjoy some sexy times. As he was removing my shorts, he noticed something irregular on my leg. When he asked about it, I assumed it was just another melted chocolate chip. I nearly just chipped it away with my fingernail and resumed what we were doing. But something within me had the foresight to put a small sampling on my finger and sniff it instead of picking or licking it. (And this may prove that there is a God and that He is merciful.)
I instantly knew that this was no melted chocolate chip and began shouting “NO, no nonononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono” and bolted to the bathroom to cut off my infected poop leg. No amount of soap or bleach could convince me that I was going to keep the leg. It was clear that it was time for it to part ways with the rest of my body.
As I scrubbed my entire body, I began to wonder about the origin of the poop and how it ended up on my leg. Could a dingleberry fall so far from the tree? How had I missed it? It made me question my patented wiping technique. What if this had happened before and I had passed it off as someone else’s fart smell? Would I ever be able to have sex or think about sex again without having to poop or check my entire body for poop?
I thought this sort of thing only happened to the elderly or infirm. Obviously I was wrong. It also happened to semi-normal people with possibly sloppy toilet habits.
For his part, my man took it all in stride and wasn’t about to let a little poop leg slow him down. Although maybe some throwing up in the street would push him over the edge.
Need more crazy poop stories? You need only go here or here immediately.