So two days ago (on Saturday), the girls were both in their gymnastics recital. Both of them kicked ass and were totally adorable (pictures at a later date... I'm lazy tonight). Cool. So they both left there afterwards with my parents to go to dinner, get some ice cream, and sleep over at Grandma and Granddad's. Cool.
So Steve and I end up at this picnic with my MIL and FIL. It's a VERY complicated round-about family tree sort of thing, but the picnic was at a house right down the street from where we live and is sort of extended family (not really, but play along). Anyway, I meet the owners of the home... a 70 (or 80? I forget...) year-old man and his sweet, smiling wife. We're eating. We're laughing. We're drinking. It's all good.
So the guys and some of the kids go off to play wiffle ball while some of the "women folk" stayed in the screened-in porch to just chill, talk about kids, etc. At one point, I decide it's time for me to make my first trip into the home and to the bathroom. I'd had 2 or 3 beers and the pee was not going to be contained much longer.
So I ask where in the home the bathroom is and get "directions" to it from my step-FIL's daughter-in-law, who grew up there. Great. So off I go. I walk across the yard, go in the back door, walk through the kitchen, bang a left and walk through the dining room, and see the bathroom door ahead of me. I see that a light's on in the bathroom, but the door is open about 6-inches. I can't really see inside, but figure if the door's open 6", no one's in there (or a kid is in there, but since there were only 3 kids at the picnic and 2 were playing wiffle ball, I knew that if any of the kids were in the bathroom, it would be sweet, 7-year-old Lynzy. No biggie. (And yes, I think the spelling of her name is ridiculous, but it's not my kid, so whatever.)
So I move forward, with my hand outstretched to push open the door the rest of the way, and finally release the river that has been building up in me for a good hour now. I can practically feel the relief I'll experience in just a few short moments...
So my hand makes contact with the already slightly ajar door and I push it open with a little force, excited about what's about to take place. Am I faced with the glorious sight of a waiting, non-occupied porcelin toilet, just waiting to accept my "gift"? No. Because that would be what the normal person would see, and that doesn't happen to me. Ever.
No. Instead, I'm smacked in the face with a not-so-pleasant odor and see, directly in front of me, about 2 feet away, the 70+ year old homeowner sitting on his "throne", reading STAR magazine, and taking a big dump. Oh. My. God. Words cannot describe my feeling at that moment. He looked up at me over his glasses, half grinned at me, showing his full set of dentures, and chuckled silently. I slammed the damn door shut, and said, "Oh my GOD! I am soooo sorry! You didn't have the door closed!"
And then I ran. I ran like the wind. I hightailed it out of that house so fast, I swear there were flames shooting out of my ass. I ran to the field where most of the people were playing wiffle ball and I chugged a beer so fast it made my head spin. And then, for the remaining 90 minutes we were still at the picnic, I avoided the man like the plague and managed to avoid all eye contact.
The second Steve and I got in the car to go home, I blurted, "I walked in on Jerome taking a dump. He was reading a magazine, the door wasn't closed, and it stank like all hell. God help me." Steve couldn't stop laughing. But he's not the one that has to live with that image permanently burned in his mind. I do. And it's not a pretty sight, lemme tell ya.
See? This is why I drink. I really have no choice.