I hate it when that happens: a post with poop

I’m not kidding. Eventually, this post is will lead to poop. If you think poop posts are inappropriate, you may want to stop reading. However, if you stop reading, you run the risk of missing out on a funny post – with poop. I wonder how many times I can type the word poop in this post? Yet another reason to continue reading, right? Remember, regardless of the story I tell to get to the poop part, there will be poop.

While Rob and I were dating, we took a trip (by car) to the Keys in FL. Friends of ours were joining us in the Keys, but they took a plane. Why didn’t we take a plane? I do not like to fly. Well, I don’t mind flying; I mind the part about the plane blowing up or coming crashing down. In any case, though our relationship was only 3 months old, Rob agreed travel with me on 12+ hour car ride.

The purpose of the trip was to go diving. Though Rob had many diving expeditions under his diving weight belt, I was a newbie diver. In fact, my certification dives were going to take place in the Keys. I do not remember if Rob and I drove straight down to Keys, or if we stopped in Palm Beach Gardens, where my Aunt and Uncle live. I know we stopped at their house on the way back, which I will talk about later.

We arrived at the hotel, and we met the other people in our group for dinner. Everyone was excited about the upcoming dives. They told tales of diving off the coasts of Grand Caymen, Cozumel and Roatan, Honduras. I was with an experienced group of divers. Though I was nervous, I knew I was in good hands.

The morning of our first dive, I enjoyed a nice cinnamon roll. I may have enjoyed two cinnamon rolls.

When we arrived at the boat, Rob noticed a chalkboard with information regarding the height of the waves/swells off shore. The height? 6 to 8 feet. This was my first open water dive. I practiced for this in a pool, folks. No boats – no swells. Just a 8′ deep end.

Taken the morning I lost my cinnamon rolls.

The group laughed it off, trying to keep me calm. Heading out, the water appeared calm. However, the further we went, the higher the swells. I started feeling nauseous. The captain’s assistant stuck a hose down my wet suit, in an attempt to cool me down and ease the nausea. It did not work. I got sick. I lost those cinnamon rolls. I hate it when that happens.

Did I mention Rob and I had only been dating 3 months?

Long story short, I completed the open water dive that day. However, I did not complete the open water dive without getting beaten by the waves (and the boat). While trying to get back on the boat after the dive, the waves kept knocking me off the ladder. When I tried to grab the ladder, I got knocked in the shin. Twice. I hate it when that happens.

The next day, the swells were again over 6′. Thankfully, my certification instructor asked me if I would rather dive in the lagoon. This would mean I would not be diving with my friends, but it would also mean I’d keep my breakfast down and my shins safe. I opted for the lagoon.

If you’ve been to the Keys, you may be familiar with Jules’ Emerald Lagoon. A claim to fame for Jules’ Lagoon is the underwater hotel. Jules’ is a neat place, but I missed the ocean life found in the open water. Thankfully, the water was calm on our third and final day of diving. We were able to dive together in the open water.

The next morning, Rob and I hit the road early, while the others were able to enjoy a late and relaxing breakfast. The ride back home started uneventfully. Rob still seemed interested in me, despite throwing up on the boat. Rob still seemed content, traveling by car versus a quick flight. Our relationship – though young – was going strong. What could happen worse than vomiting?

Well …

Two hours away from Palm Beach Gardens, my stomach started to hurt. I recognized the pain. I knew what the pain meant. I was afraid. I hate it when that happens.

I knew I had some time before there was no turning back, but I wasn’t sure how much time I had. Have you traveled along Florida’s Turnpikes? If so, you may have noticed a lack of exits. More specifically, you may have noticed lack of rest rooms. As the pain in my stomach increased, I was painfully aware of the lack of rest rooms. One thing was clear, I needed to go to the bathroom. I tried to explain to Rob the urgency, but – only three months into the relationship, how could he know?

I did some breathing exercises. Tightened my body. Breathed again. Tightened again. We were getting closer, but the need was getting closer, too. Breathe. Tighten. BREATHE. TIGHTEN.

Finally, we reached our exit! DANG! There was a line at the exit (a toll exit). I hate it when that happens! BREATHE. TIGHTEN. BREATHE. TIGHTEN. Roooob!!!!

We made it through the toll. Rob picked up speed. DANG!! We were just in time for a red light. I hate it when that happens!!

ROOOOOOOB!!!!!! The light turns green, and Rob pulls into a gas station. I get out and run to the door. Locked. I hate it when that happens!!

“WILL YOU GET THE KEY?!!” I scream, as I do a dance of breathing and tightening, combined with bowing down in pain.

Rob gets out of the car and walks inside the convenience store. I wait. I wait. And, I wait. OH MY GOSH! I CAN’T STAND IT! I walk around to see where Rob is – HE IS WAITING IN LINE. FOR THE KEY!!  WHAT?? I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS!!

I run in the store, go around the line and head straight for the store clerk. “May I please have a key to the bathroom?” The guy gives it to me. I leave the store, while shooting Rob a look (it was not a nice look). I hate it when that happens!

Done, I returned the key to store clerk, and I got back in the car. “Well, I didn’t make it.” I said to Rob. “What do you mean?” He asked. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” Rob was not turned on – nor was I trying to turn him on. Without a word, Rob drove us to my Aunt and Uncle’s house. Four years later, we were married. Maybe it took him four years to forget about our trip to the Keys and back. Maybe I’ll remind him. He hates it when that happens.

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33 thoughts on “I hate it when that happens: a post with poop

  1. Ahahahahahaha! I don’t know if it’s being a parent that’s done this to me, but I appreciate a good poop tale now and again these days. This was definitely a good poop tale, revealing and concealing in just the right proportion! Thanks for that. And Rob? Good man. :D

    • I stayed up late to write it. Not sure I should be proud of that fact. (Staying up late to tell a poop tale, that is.) It is funny, though. The line at the toll, the red light, the locked door – Rob waiting in line…. it’s funny. Glad you enjoyed it, Deborah. I hope I don’t lose readers. (smile) ~ Lenore

    • Do you ever tire of hearing it? I mean, you’ve heard this story several times, right? I had to go public. (Though the public may disagree.) Love you, Andrea HT! Mean it!

  2. This story stills puts me in total stitches and makes me cry in laughter. Now I have to redo my makeup this morning. Still one of the funnier stories I know about you Lenore. Love you for sharing! LH

  3. In my experience, poop/vomiting is what keeps relationships strong! My husband and I have our own stories (some involving childbirth, some not) If you can go through these things and your partner STILL loves you and wants to be with you, you’re golden. :) Our very first date, my husband came to pick me up and I wanted him to meet my cat. I picked up Max and he promptly scratched the daylights out of my arm and leg. Long bleeding scratches everywhere. I was mortified. So I had to bleed all over his front seat. I was certain he’d never call me back again after that.

    • Isn’t that funny, Darla? What we feel would be a sure fire end to a relationship – brings you closer. This morning I informed Rob that I posted the diving trip incident. He smile and shook his head. He hates it when that happens. (hee, hee) Your scratches have healed, yes?? :) Thanks for visiting, Darla! ~ Lenore

  4. Well, you can’t scare me off with a little story about poop. Nurses talk about that all stuff while they’re eating lunch. Besides, you’ve read my post about the colon cleansing.

    I have to say that you are not the only person to ever leave a pair of drawers in the restroom of a gas station along the freeway…

    • K8edid, I confess – your colon cleanse post was the trigger to my fessing up on the diving trip. I just thought it was a funny story that had to be shared. Had to be shared. Glad I didn’t scare you off. My sister is a nurse. I’ll have to get some stories from her. (smile)

      I am sure I’m not the only person to leave a pair of drawers in the restroom. For the record though, I’ve only done it once. (smile) ~ Lenore

    • Come clean with it….. Funny, Georgette. Very funny! (smile) The anniversary is in October, but every day is an anniversary, right? So, thanks for the well wishes. I thought the story was worth sharing, regardless of the embarrassment factor, if only because those that know the story are – like you – still chuckling. Good memories. ~ Lenore

    • I share it all, Angel! For better or worse – I share all! (Rob says it is for the worse… (smile) Still, I share – and he is with me, so it works. He is a great guy. Glad you liked the story. ~ Lenore

    • Poop does happen – to everyone. And fortunately, most make it to the bathroom in time. (smile) Glad you enjoy the story. It continues to make me laugh over 10 years later. ~ Lenore

  5. I can’t think of many things that are worse than not being able to find a restroom when you need one…
    it’s torture!
    I’ve never been diving, although I am a big fan of The Life Aquatic… so… there’s that… I guess… :)

    • The Life Aquatic. That was funny. Hey, if you liked the movie, you should try the real thing!
      And yes, it was torture – for me – for Rob … But, a good story was created, so there’s that. :)
      Thanks for visiting, SIG! ~ Lenore

    • Dinner? Dinner? I was hoping you were going to make dinner. My kids are tiring of peanut butter and jelly. Actually, that’s a lie – the boys would eat PB&J every day for every meal, if I let them. ~ Lenore

  6. Loved this post, Lenore…thanks for the giggle! It reminded me of a year or so ago when Jim was having an “intestinal issue.” The doctor decided Jim should undergo an enema…I declined to go in that room with him! The doctor said, “Oh come on…be supportive!”

    Wendy

      • Oh yes. Target. Toy section. With four kids in tow. Oopsie poopsie. My 3-yr-old couldn’t stop talking loudly about the craziness of wet-undies-in-the-purse through the store and out the door. One of the many niceties of parenthood.

        Hm. Reminds me of another story. I should go back to Darla’s post before my momery kicks in.

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