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.
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?
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.