[quote name='iamsmart']When I was 11, I went to a summer camp for a week. The toilets were old and gross, so I vowed to hold in my dook until I got home a week later. Well, time makes fools of us all, and after a few days of intense stomach aches, my body relented and I crapped my pants. Did I mention I was on a canoe in the middle of the lake? Of course, instead of just jumping into the water and taking care of it then and there, I rowed back to shore and duck-walked a mile back to my campsite to drop it off. All of my friends called me "Poo-Canoe" and needless to say I had no problems using the toilets after that incident.[/QUOTE]
I met my Asian ex-girlfriend's overly-strict Asian parents for the first time when I was 22. She invited me over for dinner one night after classes to meet them after we'd been together for a few months; I'd been having stomach problems due to stress from senior year finals, but I didn't want to decline the invitation and make a bad first impression. When I got there, I could already tell that they were disappointed that I'm white. They decided to serve me a traditional Filipino dish called sinigang na bahoy, which is a sour pork soup. Needless to say, the soup didn't settle well with me, and I basically had that diarrhea feeling not five minutes after my first bite. I excused myself to run to their bathroom, but her father spoke up stating that it's only customary for guests to sit until the head of the table leaves. He then proceeded to grill me on my past history, my grades, and my life goals, then he condescendingly explained why Filipino culture is so much better than American culture. I sat there and nodded for a good 15 minutes, poo sweat cresting at the ridge of my forehead. Finally, the pain of holding it in was so great that I finally said enough and pseudo-duck-ran to their bathroom. I spent the next 10 minutes shitting myself into dehydration. I clearly remember her mother knocking on the door and asking what I'm doing in there, to which there was no response. Four flushes and a roll of toilet paper later, I got up and turned around to find what can only be described as what you'd expect to see if a class 4 hurricane hit Hershey, Pennsylvania. Frantically, I searched around for any cleaning products or sanitizers I could find, and I scrubbed that toilet with all my might. I was confident that nobody would know the difference, but I hadn't realized that I'd been gone for almost half an hour at that point. When I returned to scowling faces, I had to confess.
We lasted a good eight months longer, but I didn't go to her house much after that.