Shitty story

It was the trip of a lifetime. I went with my beloved to her hometown to meet her family. Everything had been going well between us up until then. We had many serious plans. Happiness flowed from our every gesture and word. It was wonderful.

It was one of those lazy days. The sun was already high in the sky when I woke up. I should note that we were staying overnight with my beloved's grandparents, in their charming little house.

I went down to the dining room for a snack and a cup of coffee, then immediately went to the bathroom, showered, and prepared for the day ahead. Breakfast was delicious. I lit a cigarette and savored the taste of fresh coffee. Suddenly, as often happens with me, I felt a sudden urge to defecate, to use medical terminology. So I stubbed out the cigarette and ran to the bathroom.

What happened next changed my life completely. Just minutes later, I underwent a complete transformation, brought on by my traumatic experiences. I've tried so many times to erase this memory, but I've never succeeded. I'm slowly losing hope of ever forgetting...

I entered the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and, as relaxed as possible, sat on the toilet seat. My bowel movement went incredibly smoothly. I then used toilet paper and flushed. While washing my hands, I caught sight of the toilet bowl out of the corner of my eye and froze in fear! The water wasn't decreasing; on the contrary, it was filling, and a huge pile of feces was floating inside!

When I regained my ability to think logically, and my nerves began sending messages of extreme anxiety to my brain, I launched a counterattack. I tried the only way I knew how to increase the water flow, which I thought would clear the obstruction. But nothing happened. The water level in the bowl remained unchanged. I panicked.

I timidly called out to my beloved to come to me, as I had something important to tell her. When she arrived, I quickly explained the situation and asked for help. I didn't think about the embarrassment I was causing her. But there was no way around it. I couldn't just leave the poop floating in the full toilet.

I asked her for a plunger, which was clearly out of my sight. However, after a while, it turned out there wasn't one in the house. It also turned out that my beloved, not only had asked her grandparents about this urgently needed device, but since they didn't have one, they ran to the neighbors and told them the whole story, begging for help.

I was so surprised when they returned home with the neighbors, shouting over each other, pointing out what they thought was the best way to solve the problem.

Meanwhile, something happened in the bathroom that I deeply hoped wouldn't happen. Turning on the water flow, I had to adjust the flush mechanism, as the water wouldn't stop flowing, and to my horror, it was already spilling out of the toilet, flooding the floor. I stood in the doorway, watching this disaster unfold, and, resigned, decided to take the most drastic measure possible.

I entered the bathroom, dipping my feet in the cold, dirty water, and slowly approached the toilet. I pulled a plastic garbage bag from the nearby cabinet, reached inside, and surprisingly, without the slightest trace of disgust, reached for the poop proudly floating on the surface of the water. I won't describe my impressions here, but I can honestly say that I now know what it's like to hold poop in my hand. With a deft movement, I flipped the bag over, and the poop found its way inside. Then I put on a second bag and slid my hand all the way to the bottom of the toilet, trying to manually unclog the outlet.

Pushing through the poop and paper with my fingers, I managed to find a spot where the blockage seemed looser. I pushed with all my might. It worked. The dam broke. Water was flowing out of the toilet bowl very quickly.

Then I opened the flush mechanism and adjusted it to stop the flow of water. The threat was averted. I mopped the floor. With a plastic bag in hand, I left the bathroom.

I was met with questioning glances from the homeowners, a group of about twenty neighbors, and my beloved.

With a smile on my face, I said, "Done."

Everyone started cheering. I felt wonderful. I was a hero in their eyes. I left the house to thunderous applause and went to the nearest dumpster, where I disposed of the poop.

When I returned home, the guests were still cheering and shouting. Some neighbors had even brought alcohol from their homes, and it seemed like a small party was about to take place in honor of the toilet's unclogging. I took a quick shower and went downstairs.

I approached my beloved so I could finally hug her and forget about this devastating event. But she quickly pulled away and said,

"Don't touch me. I feel like you still have that poop on your hands.

" "Oh, honey. I took a shower and it's okay now. Don't be afraid. The poop is gone. We're safe.

" "Unfortunately, the feeling of having poop on your hands will never leave me. Don't touch me. Get out of this house. I don't want to see you again."

I was so surprised by her words that I immediately left the house. I bought a return ticket and went home.

I snapped out of my shock only when I was standing outside my door. I thought to myself that maybe it was for the best that it had happened. After all, there would always have been this mess between us. Yes. It's definitely better that we're no longer together. Full of optimism, I opened the door.

I walked into the living room. My roommates looked at me in surprise. What happened? They asked. Why was I back already? I was supposed to be there for another two weeks?

I replied calmly,

"Shit happens."