Potty Humor For The Monday Blues

Author Kelly Byrne photo of rest room door
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

The Great Toilet Debacle of 2015 – A Cautionary Tale

It begins like this…

After a shower I put lotion on all my pertinent parts to keep them from drying and cracking like the Mojave desert floor. When I got to the leg this morning, shit went sideways. Quite literally.

I did what I always do: rested my foot up on the toilet seat to better get the full reach of the leg. I was wearing my super awesome, super soft, super slippery socks and well, you probably see where this is headed.

Into the toilet the foot goes.

But wait there’s more.

When I tried to rectify that horrible situation, my world disintegrated into a Buster Keaton movie. The other slippy sock lost grip on the cold tile. So I’m skating around with the right foot trying to regain balance, and the left foot has apparently set up shop in the toilet because it’s decidedly not cooperating with my pleas to leave it.

It’s Bambi on ice, a flail-fest, and I’m going down.

So of course, on my way, I do what now? Yes, grab that shower curtain because a two pound rod not securely fastened to the wall will hold up a (redacted) pound woman as she’s thrashing wildly about.

I go down hard, curtain in hand, over the side of the shower, and down the bar comes, smacking me in the face as I slump over into the tub.

All this while nekkid (but for the super cushy socks).

Not one of my finer moments. But I did get a good laugh out of it.

And a nice shiner on my eye.

Toilet/Shower: 1

Kelly: 0

Luckily – the toilet had been flushed.

Life lesson #1: toilet seat down when lubing up the legs.

Life lesson #2: slippy socks stay on the floor.

Life lesson #3: What do you think? What have you learned from my mistakes? Write your thoughts in the comments below. When you stop laughing at me.

Feel free to share any ridiculously embarrassing thing you’ve done lately (or ever) too. We’ll laugh at you, not with you. Promise.

(I posted this on Facebook earlier this year, and Jenny Hansen shared it on her Cowbell blog here, so forgive me if this is a repeat for you, but I felt it was time to share some serious silly on the blog and (thankfully?) nothing this ridiculous has happened lately for me to share. Doesn’t get much sillier than this. Seriously.)

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Author Kelly Byrne Website

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Kelly Byrne
An award-winning writer in many a genre, I currently herd words into novels and short stories about wildly flawed, but lovable characters. I strive to uncover the extraordinary in the ordinary, for those who believe in the possibility of the impossible, and those who always believe in love. My fiction embraces the idea that extraordinary things can and do happen in the real world. These whisperings of supernatural elements give my work a strong emotional edge, lending surprise and wonder to every story. I live in Los Angeles with my desperately handsome boyfriend where I’m working on my next novel.

4 Comments

  1. I have not read this before! I laughed out loud several times– WELL DONE! –until I got to the black eye part. Talk about adding injury to insult. Yikes. I’m so glad you’re okay.
    I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything quite that klutzy– though I used to routinely fall UP the stairs while racing late to my second floor dance school. Imagine my humiliation limping into the studio with torn tights and bloody knees while the other girls, already at the barre, plied in a paper-doll line, all pink and perfect in their leotards and hair buns. But, actually, I think I can top that.
    There was this one time when I thought I might literally and actually die of embarrassment in front of a room of co-workers. I did manage to cover my gaffe. But it took some fine acting, covert action and fancy footwork. Now, I’m only telling you this, Kel, cuz you’re my kind of gal. The straight-up real kind and, well, I think you might understand. But you have to promise: No borrowing. You gotta earn this particular brand of self-flagellation. So. . . here goes:

    Imagine a twenty-something year old who works all day and parties all night. Tears off her clothes when she gets home at 3 a.m., passes out for a few hours, falls out of bed with the morning alarm, pulls on clean underwear, grabs a pair of pants off the floor, gargles while sitting on the toilet and scrubs her pits with a wet washcloth while chasing a pair of shoes around the floor with her feet like a Brazilian soccer player. She flies down the apartment building stairs pulling a blouse over her head and searches for the car she doesn’t even remember parking. What could possibly go wrong?
    Now it’s 11:00 a.m. A strategy meeting is in session. We’re all standing around the large conference room, from which the table had been removed to prepare for the new table’s delivery the following week. I’m zoning out amidst the drone of the meeting when I hear, “Hey, Davis, could you get the projection reports and pass them out?” So, I snap to it and dart to the copier, grab the stack of reports and return doing my straight-back-I’m-awake-confident-wide-stride-across-the-room-walk. When, all of a sudden– I feel something inside my pant leg. I stop moving. And, for some reason, all eyes are on me. I take another step or two and– Yep! something is making it’s way down the inside of my flared-bottom slacks and heading for my ankle. Something is about to fall out of my pant leg and be left in the middle of the carpeted room, right smack dab in the center of a ring of people all hugging the walls and looking at me. I freeze. I cannot take one more step. I have no idea what will happen if I do. I cannot fathom what creature or thing is about to drop on the floor for everyone to see. Then, for some reason I cannot now explain, I begin to cough– which only drops whatever is in my pants even lower. But, I cough harder. I begin to hack and choke and retch so loudly that I have no choice but to drop to my knees, letting fly the pile of papers as I catch myself with outstretched arms. I am on hands and knees, doggy style, like a drooling bull dog about to regurgitate his Gravy Train. And, instantly I’m surrounded by co-workers. “Are you okay?!” “Davis, Davis?” “Get her a glass of water!” “Do something, somebody!” I’m freaking everyone out! So, I stop coughing. And– breathing. And just as I hear someone yell, “Call 911!”, I take a huge, howling gulp of air, flop back on my feet, and – in a dramatic display of misdirection – throw my head back as if sucking in my last breath on earth. While the circle closes in around me, arms wildly shoving cups of Sparkletts at my face, I support myself with my right arm, reach around with my left and feel . . . last night’s Calvin Klein hip-hugger panties with the lace waistband and cotton crotch beside my left shoe! DEAR. GOD! I-WILL-NE-VER-EV-ER-DRINK-GIN-A-GAIN!

    I scrunch up that purple & pink panty in my fist as fast as I can and shove it under the arch of my foot and into my navy blue peep-toed pumps. I am pulled to standing, and as water is poured down my throat, I am led limping to the sofa in the entryway where I collapse in a heap. Everyone is bending over fanning me, feeding me and taking my pulse but no one, absolutely no one, I THINK, is looking at the dirty underwear hanging out the side of my shoe.
    When the crisis died down and I was left to recuperate, I snatched those panties up and wedged them as far down between the sofa cushions as they would go. And I left them there– until quitting time. I waved off all offers to walk me to my car – and when I was alone, I yanked those son-of-a-bitch bikinis out of that sofa and dropped them in the god-damn parking garage dumpster.
    Now . . . as fate would have it, there is a lesson in this timeless parable . . . a moral for all to learn by and live by. Never, ever, shimmy off those pants and panties at the same time. Remember, Pants First. Pant-ies Second. Throw the panties in the hamper. Smooth the pants over a hanger. Or you may find yourself in a Calvin Klein catastrophe of your own. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

    1. Ha! That. Was. Awesome. I’d love to go back and check in with all the people there and find out exactly just how many people weren’t looking at the undies in the shoe. lol Thank you, Davis, for hilarious story, the wise words, and sage advice. I’ll keep it in mind the next time I’m out till 3am drinking gin. 😉

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