The shorts that never were.....

On Monday, the hubby and I planned to have a fun day at our friends cabin for the day. So I do what every girl (or woman) does. (Woman just makes me sound old.) I immediately dug around in my dresser for those comfy pants. You know, the ones with the tie waist, elastic waist, anything without restrictions. It's almost like one is preparing to feel better about shoving their face with food and snacks and never having to feel guilty.

I found the perfect pair of long shorts (went to about my knee caps) with a tie waist. Set them aside. Showered. Got dressed. Went on my merry way down the stairs to grab some breakfast with the hubby.

I walked over to the kitchen when I was done (yes, I promise there's a point to telling you all of this), and hubby says to me, "What's on 'yer b***hole?"

(I laugh hysterically just typing that.)

BUT, it's what he said. I can't lie.

I thought he was talking to the cats because Whiskey (one of the cats) always seems to need a manual WIPE. So I just laughed to myself, minding my own business.

Then he said it again, "what's on 'yer b***hole?"

(laughing harder yet?)

And so I turn around and ask,"are you talking to me!?"

He goes, "yeah!"

So, well, I reach to where one would find their "end," and I touched something.

Something that I wasn't expecting.

I thought maybe it'd be soft or like a string or something or maybe a little piece of the rug from the bathroom floor.

No. Wasn't cloth. Wasn't fuzz. Wasn't string or hair or anything.

It was poo.

Yes folks - POO.

RIGHT on the seam of my shorts which lies directly around the area of my crack.

It certainly wasn't MY POO - cuz heck, that'd be a talent to poo on the OUTSIDE of your shorts right?

After a hysterical laugh by the hubby and a disgusted, I'm-going-to-puke face by myself, I washed my finger for about 5 minutes. Had to then REMOVE my most comfortable shorts and wash them, and find another pair to make my heart as content.

How'd the poo get there?

Not sure. But knowing how Whiskey is (as mentioned above), I'd be willing to bet that he went to the litter box to go, then came into the bathroom and sat down on my shorts.

I'm positive this was planned because the location of where the poo was, was PRECISE.

*

Moral of the story: If you're not pooping, someone else is.