Diary 13. The "Poopcident"

Warning: this post talks a lot about poo. But I'm about to share a rather embarrassing experience that I can say now, is pretty funny.

We had enjoyed a lovely week exploring part of Northern France and had one more stop to make in Rennes before going back to Jenna's Dads', where we would make some final adjustments to the van before departing again.

It had been a few days since I had made a deposit to the bank of poo, but that morning I felt like today would be the day. We had already decided we would avoid having number two's in the van because of the smell and having to empty it.  There wasn't a public toilet where we had stayed, so I decided to wait until we got to Rennes.

We found our parking spot in the city, which was just a residential area, again with no toilet. It being our first visit to a city, we thought we would treat ourselves by going out for dinner. Perfect, I could use the restaurant toilet I thought.

I donned my only pair of jeans and we began the 30 minute walk to the restaurant. When we arrived, it had just opened and we were the second table to arrive. As we sat down, my belly rumbled. I looked around for the toilet and could only spot one possible door.

The thing is, this was a very intimate restaurant. There were less than 10 tables and the single cubicle toilet was practically in the restaurant, right next to the kitchen and the host station. I feared that the growing number of customers would be able to hear me and the smell would linger once I had dropped the kids off at the pool. During my contemplation, our food arrived. It would have to wait for now.

Within minutes of finishing our mains, the dessert arrived. The cheque came just as quick after, and by then the restaurant was full and there were people waiting for our table (We can't fault the service). I wasn't brave enough to slip past the host and the other guests to the toilet. I had missed my prime opportunity.

The delicious meal had filled us both to bursting, and now Jenna needed to go too, so we decided we would walk back to the van, drive to somewhere else with a public toilet and both relieve ourselves. First, we felt we had to have a quick look around the city at the sites and, of course, for toilets. We enjoyed the views, all the while trying to forget my primal needs, and found a public toilet. It was closed. 

We started the long walk back to the van, bloated and full. We had no drinking water in the van so I made, the now silly suggestion, to pop into a shop on the way to get some. While shopping, there was a deep rumble in my gut. The beast had arrived and made itself known with a breath of toxic methane. 

From this point, I was in real trouble. 

I hurried Jenna out of the shop and up the road, trying to keep my stress, and the brown beast, in. We still had at least 10 minutes to the van. As we were walking along the neverending path next to a busy road, I was constantly assessing possible options, "Maybe I could take one of those cardboard boxes round the corner somewhere" I thought, but there was no corner. "Perhaps there's a wheelie bin I can use", but the apartments had none.

I was clenching my bum cheeks and Jenna's hand, speed walking up on my toes like a drag queen late for a Cher concert. I knew I was struggling and couldn't hold it much longer.

Jenna told me to walk ahead as her legs were hurting, and that whatever happens, happens. I feared I knew what that might be.

I continued my speed walk (a run may have edged it on more), the pain growing and my grip on my bum hole, and my dignity, tightening. The poo sweats had started, so I took my coat off in anticipation, ready to throw myself at the toilet. The van was in sight, maybe 100 yards away. But suddenly, it was too late.

I had lost all control and I felt it's warm presence engulf my pants. At the age of 28, for the first time in my adult life, I had shit myself.

I held my coat behind me in case anything could be seen from the rear, and waddled the remaining steps to the van as it continued to pour from my passage and down to the back of my knees. Imagine the scene in Bridesmaids, except in trousers.

I was devastated, but finally relieved.

Once I reached the van, I didn't know how best to approach. It's a high step, and I worried that if I lunged my leg up, it would spread even more and drop down to my socks. Plus, Bailey was excited to see me, and I didn't want her to scrabble around and make things worse. 

I clambered in like a pig trying to put on stockings, and looked at Jenna for her reaction and some advice on what to do now. Now, this is why I love my wife; she wasn't disgusted, she didn't mock me, she put on her boss pants and helped me clear out the toilet area so that I could undress and assess the situation. Let's just say, it was a bad day to be wearing loose boxers.  

She told me what to strip off and keep on, and all the clothes went straight into a bin bag. Then, with a whole roll of toilet paper and what seemed like a thousand wet wipes, I still wasn't clean. Jenna ran some hot water and soap, got a flannel out and, again, at the age of 28, I was given a wash. Finally, after about 30 minutes of clean up, I was in my pyjamas. We had done the best we could with what we had, but the smell still lingered and I don't think either of us wanted to sleep next to each other knowing I could be cleaner.

So, Jenna sent her Dad a text, notifying them there had been a "poopcident" and asked if we could come to theirs a day early. It was about 10pm already but they agreed, and J bravely tackled the hour drive in the dark, down winding country lanes, still needing the loo herself.

When we arrived, they asked what had happened, and were surprised when I embarrassingly told them the poopcident was me and not Bailey, which is what they had assumed. They swept me up stairs into the shower, and shoved a strong drink in my hand. Jenna was given a double whiskey and told them what had happened while I cleaned up properly. It was then, Jenna decided, the teasing could begin. 

Matt