It started with food poisoning, courtesy of my dad. He's always been pretty lax with food expiry dates, and the corned beef sandwich that he made my brother, himself and I was one of those instances where the expiry date was just a "suggestion". So by the next day, all the men in the house had food poisoning. Up until then, I thought food poisoning was similar to real poisoning: laying on a bed, deathly ill, unable to move or do anything. Instead, I've never been so mobile in my life. After every trip to Diarrhea City, I'd think "I'm finally empty. There's nothing left inside to shit out" only to run back to Diarrhea City a minute later. By the end of the first day, I'd shit so many times that I had wiped my ass raw; the toilet paper felt like sandpaper. It felt like somebody napalmed my butthole.
By the second day, I was finally diarrhea'd out. I felt weak, but at least I didn't have to stay close to a bathroom in case it hit again. 'Food poisoning sucks but it's not so bad if it only lasts a day' I thought to myself. So when I felt a fart coming on, I didn't think anything of it. Besides, after the previous day, I'd happily accept farting over shitting. At least I wouldn't have to wipe my ass again. I let it rip.
People can usually tell from the feeling in their guts whether it's a fart coming on or a turd (or y'know, diarrhea). Or at least I've always been able to. I didn't realize that the food poisoning had screwed those senses up. You should seen how quickly my expression changed when I suddenly felt something wet back there. Without hesitating, I ran to the closest bathroom and assessed the damage. Because I didn't just politely toot it and arrogantly let it rip, there was quite a bit of damage. As in, my underwear was a write off. If I had let it slosh around a few seconds more, my pants would have been a write off too. I didn't even want to throw it in the washing machine and hand washing it was out of the question. I took a shower, grabbed a plastic bag, threw them in there and told my parents I was taking a stroll. I threw the bag in a public trash can at a park, because I didn't want to have to explain to my parents why there was a barely recognizable pair of underwear in the garbage. Besides, the stench was unreal, I wasn't gonna let it stink up the house.
For a long time afterward, I was paranoid that I'd shit my pants any time I had to fart in public, food poisoning or not. If nothing else, the whole ordeal taught me to respect food expiry dates. Shit ain't no joke.
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