Poo-Tastrophe 2012's Thrilling Conclusion

Wow.  I have some really awesome readers.  Sky King and I went through the emotional wringer lately, over a verified HYPOTHETICAL Poo-Tastrophe, and we vehemently disagreed about some key issues (wanna catch up?  Go here.).  Our marriage could not continue with each party thinking they had the correct solution.  So a poll was created. 

Many that love us helped us.  A lot was at stake-massages, naked favors, the knowledge of being right.

For  the record, Sky King thought that flushing, then reaching into a public toilet that I just BLEW UP, and using that water to repeatedly wash my ladybits with was his solution.  Not only is that EEEEWWWW.  But can you imagine what my potential stallmates would think?  All they'd hear is:

"Oh. God." :::rumble, rumble, fart, gasp:::
"Ahhhh.....Wait, no paper?!?!?  Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!?"
:::digging through purse:::
:::garbled bad words:::
:::flush.......splash, splash:::
"Damn, that's cold!"
:::Flush, splash, splash:::

Seriously?  Then I walk out, saunter over to the sink, and proceed to sanitize my hands and arms.
No.

So, my thought was to remove my panties, using the outer fabric to wipe, ditching the panties in the feminine hygiene receptacle.   Then, go commando the rest of the short trip to the mall.  Easy-peasy.  And, there was PLENTY of fabric. Its cottony softness would be lovely, I thought. But Sky King is worried about, apparently, our skyrocketing panty budget. 

Fortunately, there was an ample supply of butt gaskets.  Scratchy and not as absorbent as I would have liked, but I was not using the mall crapper as my personal birdbath.  And, I got to keep panties on. 

When I realized we were at a moral impasse, Sky King and I decided to rely on the amazing minds of the internet to help guide us.

The comments were better than the original post--I got them from text, from Facebook, from the original post, and from the updated post (note: I accidentally lost the first batch of comments from the original post, because I may have broken Disqus. Or Blogger.). 

But, through the wonders of the internets, I was able to recreate and compile the entire batch of fabulousness, complete with my snarky additions.  You're welcome.

Comments (with my replies in green):

•         Toss the panties. Damn straight.
•         Ditch the panties! I fell ya.
•         Okay. You know I have much love for you. But I have to side with Sky King on this one. I think the idea of washing your ass with toilet water (even clean) and your hand is just a bridge too far for me. What can I say? I'm fecal phobic. On the plus side, if you're good enough at whatever he decides to claim as your prize, you could always sneak a professional massage onto the credit card! J- I am so glad I wrote the original post objectively enough that you thought I was not the panty ditcher.  But now, I am alarmed that you would think I would wash my ass in toilet water.  I'm conflicted. Shit.
•          You sure have a way of saying the unspeakable! Thank you, I aim to please.  I will be adding that to my resume'.
•          I think I go with B. But I am not opposed to the butt gaskets as a first choice!!! You, my dear, are wrong.
•         Jeesh! It is dinner time here in the east, just lost my appetite. P.S. My vote is to sacrifice the panties (socks too if you had them) C-Believe me, I would have sacrificed half my wardrobe to avoid a toilet ass-bath. Sorry about your dinner...
•          I don't understand. One of those is a viable option and the other in completely disgusting!  I agree!
•          I don't care how clean it looks, I'm not sticking my hand in a toilet. Amen, sister.
•          I'd have to say #1....#2 seems messier. Clearly, you are highly intelligent.
•          I vote for option 2. but I have used butt gaskets in a pinch. Umm, no, Mom.  Not okay.  Now, I can't hug you anymore.
•          ‎$7 panties? Obviously you didn't have Joe and I buy them! That said, Option 1 is it. Even the men agree, J.  And no, I buy my own panties.  But I will certainly keep you in mind for the next 12-pack I need....
•          Option 2, there is no guarantee you will get as clean as you want with the panties and may be forced to splash. While not an option, you could wait until the coast is clean and do the squat shuffle to the next stall for paper. Once again, no.  NO.  You and my mom seem to be in cahoots. 
•          Oh. My. God. I can't even... Ima go find my brain bleach. At least you don't LIVE my life, you only have to read about it.  I toned it WAY down for general consumption.
•          Ugh, no compassionate stall mates to plead a case to? Nope. Not a one.  I almost screamed for Monkey Boy to come to my rescue.  But there's no telling whether he would have helped-a 13-year-old boy, assisting his Mommy in the Ladies' room?  Not likely.
•          I think you need to be more comfortable in your nakedness and that Sky King needs to get better at Massages so I am technically going with neither, or is it both...Either way, I feel the need to use mouthwash...not sure why. Chicken.
•          If I hypothetically was in such a situation, I would have to base my decision on what pants I was wearing. If I had on yoga pants, then yes, ditch the undies, and go commando. If I had on Jeans, or something more 'harsh', then there's no way I'm ditching the undies and I would go with option 2, and I might even try and sneak outside the stall and grab some paper towels and continue on. I was in a flowy, non-transparent maxi-dress. Perfect for panty-ditching.
• Panties are gone, just like college ;).....NO way I'd ever stick my hand in that water, let alone potentially catch some STD from that water by splashing it on my cooter! T-you speak of this like we know each other from 20+ years ago, when I was in college.  That's not possible, I was a model student, and spent all my free time working hard and studying.  Not skinny-dipping, drinking Quarter beers at McBurley's on Thirsty Thursdays, and doing the 7 AM walk of shame. Who are you????  

 So.  For the first few hours, things seemed evenly split between option 1, option 2, and people that were thoroughly disgusted with the entire convo.  But, there was a clear winner at the end of the day.

Clear Votes:

Option 1 (ME!!!!!):  8 votes
Option 2(Sky King): 3 votes

I won't even address the fact that some of you didn't want to commit either way.  Pansies.

Sky King and I exchanged texts over the results:

 
 

Still a win, in my book.
 

Personal Growth or, Dad, This One's About Sex-Sorry.

Different things in life teach us different lessons-there could be a life lesson in just about anything.  For instance, you can learn a lot about yourself during a week of being sick.  I did.

I learned how to be.

Just, to be.  Sit, gaze out into the yard, do nothing.  It sounds small, but it was significant for a recovering control freak like me.

I sat.  And sat and sat and sat.  It was not painful.

Painful was the coughing.  You know the kind of cough where you retch at the end, screaming obscenities at the world?  Where you have a barf bowl handy at all times?  Where you consume so much lemon water each and every time you cough, or almost cough, that your pee is clear, and you are getting cardio going back and forth to the fridge for more lemon water, or the bathroom to expel it?

Yep.  That was me. 

I also learned that Ambien is an aphrodesiac.  As is Nyquil.


Many of you know that I used to be wary of drug-pharmaceuticals were an issue for me.  I spent many of my formative years hanging with hippies, so I was always more likely to do lines of echinacea, than amoxicillin.  All that changed with Lyme Disease.  Now, I'm a pill popping fiend.

I even took cough syrup last week like clockwork.  All week, every 2 hours.  Just so my throat could heal, so I could cough.  And at night? Sky King turned me on to Nyquil-the nighttime-sniffling-sneezing-torturingyourhusband-tossing-turning-being-miserable medicine.  (Isn't that the commercial?)

Basically, I was attempting to knock myself out so bad, I would be almost Michael-Jackson-Propofol catatonic.  I think my last words were: make sure I keep breathing.

So, gulp would go the Nyquil (followed by lots of water because Nyquil tastes like liquefied corpses), along with my usual pile 'o pills.  Including Ambien.

Ambien makes me not remember things that happen roughly 20 minutes after consumption.  I go upstairs, take my meds, go through my nighttime routine.  Pretty soon, I hit the hay, and maybe surf the TV for about 3.7 minutes, until sleep hits me over the head with a cartoon mallet.  It's heavenly. But sometimes I have crazy conversations with Sky King.  In fact, I have told him, "No talking to me once I go upstairs" because he would mock me if I said something funny.  Which I tend to do.  Apparently, I needed to set broader parameters.  Like, "No taking advantage of your incapacitated wife in a sexual way."

I have learned I have a predisposition to respond favorably to offers of lovin' when hopped up on Ambien.  And the results tend to be......ahem......exceptional. (sorry, Dad.  The TITLE even said not to read this. And Mom, I know you can take it.)

Nyquil + Ambien?   Super Duper Mega Favorable.  As in, wake-up-without-panties-which-is-the-only-indication-I-put-out-and-have-to-piece-the-night-together-over-coffee Favorable.  Sky King?  Fan.  BIG FAN.

:::bow chicka wow wow:::

Once I got better though, he was not able to take advantage of an invalid.  So sad for him.

But last night?  I got into bed, snuggled in.  We chatted briefly, while our breaths slowed.  Then, I jumped up, turned on the light, popped my pills.

Sky King took notice.  Like a seedy college guy who sees a cute young thing at the bar get a roofie slipped to her, he knew his moment was near.

Him: Oooh.  Ambien sex.  Yessssss.
Me: No.
Him: C'mon.  Ambien sex is awesome.  You are extra frisky.
Me: No Ambien sex for you.  Don't touch me. I'm tired.
Him: I hear you, but it sounds like, "give me 15 minutes to get sleepy then you can have your way with me."
Me: That is NOT what I said.
Him.  Uh huuuuuuhh.  I'm sure of it. And you aren't wearing pants.

Me: Don't touch me.  I'm tired.

Him: See you in 15 minutes.

:::tic, toc, tic, toc, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz::::



I woke up without panties again.