"Everything BY the Kitchen Sink"

OK... here goes (deep breath).

One late summer's eve, just after dinner, I was winding down the day by doing the dishes. It was warm, I recall, because I didn't have much on. Just my bum-around-the-house tank-sleeve dress. That's all. No socks. No shoes. No bra. No paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanties. Hey! What the hell. It was just me and my husband. No need to be presentable. Plus, it was HOT!

Who can remember what was for dinner that evening? Not I. But it must not have been something that agreed with me. I'm pluggin' away at the dishes, humming a l'il tune to make the time pass. And, to entertain myself even further (so EASY to do), I start adding a little TOOTIN' to my song. Every song needs a rhythm section, no? Before long, I'm just lettin' some good ones r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-i-i-p. Did Dick Goddard predict a good ol' fashioned thunderstorm for that evening? "Winds aloft!"

"Winds of change" was more like it. For my last 'blast' delivered a shock to my body as I immediately froze in standing position in front of the kitchen sink... dinner towel and plate in hand. A wave of terror spread throughout my bloodstream. Something had gone very... very wrong.

I looked down at my big toe. There was a brown spot on it. I looked at the cotton-rag rug I was standing on in front of the kitchen sink. An even larger brown stain... and one to match on the kitchen floor right next to the rug! Inside my head I screamed: "OMIGOD!!! I JUST SHIT MYSELF!!!" Still paralyzed with fear, and embarrassed -- my husband was nearby in the living room -- I just stood there thinking, "What the HELL do I do NOW?!?!?!?!?!" I was afraid to move for fear that more would leak out. Then, the smell... the horror. It began to waft up into my nostrils. Something had to be done now. Soon, the smell would drift into the living room. I couldn't have Dan smell it. I began to wonder if he noticed that my humming and "whistling while I worked" came to an abrupt halt, only to be met with immediate silence.

I scrunched my buttocks together as tight as I could and shuffled my feet to the left a few steps so I could grab hold of the paper towel roll. I just started yanking and yanking the roll, as if grabbing for a life preserver tossed from boat. I wadded up a BUNCH of towels and shoved 'em between by legs. PHEW! That'll hold... for awhile, at least. What now?

I looked down at the cotton-rag braided rug. No savin' that thing. Fortunately, a Wal-Mart find that didn't even total $2. I chucked it out the door into the garage, hoping Dan wouldn't find the need to go outside for about the next 15minutes. Next... the kitchen floor. Fortunately my bleach wipes were nearby. Took care of business with that. This was all happening at lightning speed, mind you, as I felt another wave of evil coming on. I fought it until the last spot was wiped off the floor. I could hold back no longer. I ran (if you could call it that) past the living room, down the hallway, holding the wad of paper towels between my legs, whining something to the tune of "Ooooooooohhhh Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!" Only to hear my husband yell from the living room: "DID YOU SHITCHER SELF?!?!?!?!?!"

It was only then that my fear turned to laughter. I collapsed onto the throne and busted out in laughter. Thinking to myself, that's what I get for being an imbecilic, immature, moron!!! Next time, I'll make sure to keep it to just whistling... and save the rest for the rhythm section!