Shart Week: Day 4

This week is dedicated to farts and poop, and sometimes farts and poop together, which are the funniest. I have some really great stories in this genre (Is this a genre?). I feel it’s only fair that I share them.

The year I was 17, I had one of the worst stomach flus I can remember. It was also the first time I had the stomach flu since becoming a naked sleeper. This presented it’s own set of problems.

It always hits in the middle of the night. Always. Even as an adult it hits in the middle of the night.

This had never been a problem in the past-no more of a problem than barfing at 2 in the morning usually is-but, I’d recently embraced my brazen side and had begun sleeping in the nude. There’s nothing wrong with that…

…until you have the urge to puke in the wee hours, and your bathroom is right about your parents bedroom, and your dad is a light sleeper.

My dad was the sweetest. He would always hear the vomiting, come upstairs in his underwear, and find us shivering in the corner beside the toilet. He’d shoo us back to bed and clean up any mess we’d made.

I knew this. I don’t know how with my mouth watering and my palms sweating I had the clarity to push this thought to the front of my brain, but I did and grabbed a long t-shirt on my way out of my bedroom to hork my guts out

I definitely puked on the side of the toilet a little that night. Like clockwork, as I sat in the corner with my teeth chattering, my dad poked his head in and asked if I was OK. He saw my mess and immediately set to work and sent me back to bed.

On my way, I asked if he’d brought up “the bucket”. The bucket was what once was my diaper pail when I was a baby, but now served the soul purpose of catching our stomach contents during moments such as these. Unfortunately, my dad hadn’t grabbed it on his way up. My cold sweat was waning, so I said I’d go get it.

I headed down the stairs and immediately felt the urge to fart. I know, I know! Farting when you have the stomach flu is iffy. I know that now. I even knew that then. However, I was pretty confident that this was just gas. Besides, my only other option was to go into the bathroom where my vomit oozed down the side of the toilet, push my dad out of the way in a manner of extreme urgency, only to sit down and rip a big fart in front of him.

Plus, I was super concerned that he might see my pubes. Seriously. That was my biggest concern in that moment.

So, I farted.

Ah, shwew. It was just gaaaAAAAAAAHHMYGOSH!!!

No. No, it wasn’t just gas. It was liquid poop.

On the stairs.

And I wasn’t wearing any sort of bottoms.

So, of course, I ran. I ran down because, you know, my dad might see my pubes. As I ran, it forced more poop out. Now, poop was on all 16 stairs and the landing.

And my dad clean that up, too. God created a special place in Heaven for that man before he called him home.

Self-conscious teenagers of the world, if your options are ever poop on all the carpeted (Did I mention they were carpeted?) stairs or run a very, VERY slight risk that your dad might see your pubes, risk the pubes, man! Risk the pubes!

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