I have this theory. We all have a finite amount of heart beats. And once they are used up, we die. And there is nothing we can do to alter this fate. The same goes with crapping yourself.
You see, I’m 30 now and it seems i have a counter-clockwise biological clock. When I was 10, I wanted twins or triples. And now I want nothing. Technically I want a cross breed of my and my partner’s DNA combined with kittens – but more on that later.
I’ve been trying to pin down the exact reason why I have no interest in children. I’m too selfish and immature, my body will fall apart, my hormones will be crazier than they were during my teen years, my partner won’t want to fuck me anymore, kids are expensive and kinda parasitic yada yada. But I’m starting to believe the answer is simpler than that.
It’s really about poop.
Most women shit themselves during labor. No big deal. It’s very normal and natural – though to be honest, I don’t remember seeing that part of the video in junior high sex ed.
But I used up my ‘crap-myself’ turn in Mexico 2002. In one of the best summers of my life, I spent 2 months in Guadalajara. I also went to Mexico City and Puerto Vallarta. The details are hazy. I’d had a number of digestive issues on my trip related to an intolerance for spice and being a vegetarian suddenly eating street meat. This problem was compounded by grave amounts of rum. Soo, mexican food combined with rum bum and viola. I shit my pants. It wasn’t my proudest moment. It’s been my secret shame (though still not as embarrassing as dating a guy addicted to war craft).
Luckily, I was close to home. I changed my clothes, cleaned up a little, and went back out to party. I’ve never been one to let a little fecal matter stand in the way of a good time…
But there you have it. And not only did that moment completely redefine who I am as a person, it also used up a pooping pants chance. And only time will tell if and when I’ll get another.