Today is a special day

Because today I’m going to tell you a fascinating story. FASCINATING. As in, you just might throw up! Maybe not even from the content as much as from the sheer LENGTH! This post causes eye strain!

Anyway. Anyone—ANYONE—who has met me in person has heard this story. As far as requested stories from go, it ranks right up there in popularity with “The Story of My Very First And Yet Extremely Bungled Visit to the Gynecologist” and “The Story of the Time I Rescued Someone’s Pet Bird from the Woods with My Head.” The latter of those two stories I actually did write down, and if you want to read it, you can find it here. I swear on my life and Hambone's that it is 100 percent true. And people, I do NOT mess around swearing on Hambone's life.

However, as much as you would no doubt love to hear the story of my first gynecologist visit, I don’t know if I can ever bring myself to do it here. On one hand, there is the fact that Dave told my very personal gynecologist story to his former boss over a beer a few years back, which technically I was okay with as long as I never saw him again as long as I lived. However, on the other hand, my father-in-law, who I adore, reads this website and I don’t know exactly how I would be able to look him in the eye ever again knowing he has read the word “speculum” and then all about how it was used on me in an extremely embarrassing and amateur way.

This past weekend I attended my church’s annual Ladies Retreat, and during one of the sessions, to illustrate a point that I now cannot remember for the life of me, the speaker told the story of her most humiliating moment. After the session, we broke off into assigned small groups for discussion, and the icebreaker question designed to get us all talking was, “What was YOUR most humiliating moment? Share it with these here strangers you have NEVER MET BEFORE.” I told this story to my group, and for the rest of the weekend, I was approached constantly by people who either didn’t believe it or who wanted me to repeat it so someone else could hear it or by people who wanted to know if it was okay if they went home and repeated it to someone else who could not possibly believe it.

Our honeymoon lasted for two weeks back in October of 2003; we spent the first 11 days at an enormous all-inclusive where we could come and go as we pleased, eating and drinking whatever and whenever we saw fit. For Dave, eating and drinking as he saw fit was having a pina colada in each hand no matter where he was going or what he was doing, and that includes walking from the beach to the public bathroom at 9:45am. Everything we wanted to do could be arranged from the hotel and that was perfect for us. But it was MEXICO and even though we were not in some completely rural area of Mexico, we were still subject to the same kinds of minor Mexican disasters that befall thousands of tourists each year, and by minor Mexican disasters OF COURSE I mean the rumbling bowels of watery torture, for which our witty euphemism was “talking to Pedro.”

We never got it terribly bad, in fact, it was better classified as inconvenient. After every meal we had a span of around 10 to 15 minutes with which to get to our room to start arguing about who got to talk to Pedro first. Then, because we were newlyweds who hadn’t lived together, much less HEARD THE OTHER ONE USE THE BATHROOM, we devised a system that had to be enacted before the bathroom door was locked so as to muffle any kind of sound. Water was turned on full blast, televisions were cranked up to a high volume and the home team, who wasn’t up to bat until the bottom of the inning, was banished to the far side of the room to squirm in discomfort.

The plan worked throughout our vacation. Our last three nights in Mexico were spent at a beautiful boutique hotel on the island of Isla Mujeres, where we clearly did not fit in as we were really pushing it to be able to afford three whole nights there. Our last night in Mexico, the hotel put together a lovely dinner for us: a table for two in the sand at the edge of the ocean. The pathway through the sand to our table was strewn with flower petals, the table was lit with candlelight and our own personal waiter served us divine lobster and steak and we shared wine and an entire bottle of champagne. It was literally like something straight out of a movie.

The next morning I was awoken jointly by the risen sun and my bladder around 6:30. I will now casually mention that I was not wearing any clothing. The movement of me climbing out of the bed woke Dave up, and when I caught his eye, I knew immediately that something was not right. He was STARING at me, with an intensity that could have bored holes right through my body. And he looked absolutely terrified.

“What?” I asked him once, and then when he didn’t answer, I asked again in a panicky voice because he was CREEPING ME OUT. “Seriously! What is it? What?! TELL ME!” But he was unable to say anything. He just continued staring at me with this truly horrified expression on his face.

And then I looked down.

AND FOUND THAT THE LOWER HALF OF MY BODY WAS COVERED IN BROWN, SLIMY GOOP.

It was EVERYWHERE. It was caked down my legs, over my stomach, across my back. It was also coating my hands. We quickly discovered it smeared across Dave’s chest, and lingering as brown handprints and fingerprints all over our pillows.

And then Dave pulled back the blankets and there, where my rear end had lain in the bed all night long, was an ENORMOUS, GOOEY BROWN STAIN, which had been practically ground into the sheets by my backside.

It was beyond mortifying. I just stood there, and we stared at each other, completely paralyzed with fear. Dave later admitted that he was trying to recall if he had ever been taught the appropriate protocol for dealing with the first time your wife craps the bed. And I just stood there, buck naked, wide-eyed, with my hand covering my gaping mouth, HUMILIATED ON MY VERY ROMANTIC HONEYMOON, wondering if I would ever, EVER be able to erase that hideous scar of a moment from my memory: the moment where I realized I had taken an unconscious dump in our marriage bed.

And then, just when the world was clearly about to come crashing to an end under the weight of my disgrace… I REMEMBERED. I remembered the feeling of something uncomfortable under my back in the middle of the night. Something round and hard. And when I dug through the covers at the foot of the bed, I was beyond overjoyed to have found it.

I had slept on top of a liqueur-filled chocolate that had unknowingly rolled off my pillow and underneath the sheets.

I have never been so so happy in my entire life as I was when that evidence was recovered. Dave and I laughed like crazy idiots at the realization that I had hilariously slept on an exploding chocolate instead of pooped explosively all over some expensive hotel sheets and then SMEARED IT ACROSS HIS HAIRLESS CHEST WHILE SLEEPING! You have no idea what that kind of relief felt like. Unfortunately, Dave’s relief turned quickly to irritation when he realized that we had to get up because the bed was completely soiled beyond use.

Now, tell me, Internet! Have you ever heard of anything so awful, ever? Like, EVER? If you have, I want to hear it, even if the story is not about you. This week I would love nothing more than to immerse myself in your collective humiliation, for personal reasons. And I'll reward you by posting a real kicker for you later in the week. It is already written and EVERYTHING! Oooh, the suspense!

Comments

[Angie]

Ah yes...this is definitely on the top of my list of your stories. In fact, even knowing the story before reading it, I laughed so hard I cried. Oh Emily, only you. I certainly have no match for that, or any of your other stories (except for the ones that I am involved in...and there are some...most cannot be committed to writing, as it would make them truer than we might like to admit)!
Keep up the good work...glad this stuff happens to someone I know! Makes life a lot more interesting!

[lissa]

Oh my gosh I was laughing so hard I cried and maybe peed in my pants a little. I have my own story but I'm going to email it to you because I can't bring myself to tell the internet about it.

[Julia]

I was crying so hard I could barely read the last paragraph! Then I made my husband read it.

"Talking to Pedro"!!

Priceless!

[Nothing But Bonfires]

Oh my god, I think I was SHIVERING IN HUMILIATION for you while reading. Through half-closed eyes. Imagine if it had not been the chocolate! Imagine if it had been the poop!

I have a question though. Those chocolates look awfully small. Did you sleep on many of them to produce enough to chocolate goo to cake your entire lower half of your body?

[lizardek]

Lord god almight, I have heard and read a lot of "most embarrassing stories" in my time, but that one BEATS ALL.

[lisa]

You are a brave girl to share that story. Because what if someone stopped reading before the end? Thanks for taking the chance. I gasped in horror. I laughed with relief. You're an excellent story-teller!

[Nancy]

Oh god, that is too much! Very very funny (and phew, so relieved that it was the CHOCOLATE).

Yes, I have two stories that may not top your chocolate surprise, but were terribly horrifying. (1) Romantic week in Florence with DK (age 20). Develop UTI. Attempt to explain issue in my horrible Italian to a pharmacist in a small hill town in Tuscany. Did not communicate effectively. Given placebos which only managed to turn my pee a vivid, shocking, stain-the-toilet bowl blue. Lots of discomfort, spike high fever just as DK gets on plane back to the states. Travel back to Scotland via night train with other passengers who most likely suspect all is not well. Cry piteously into pillow. Get to Scotland, go to emergency room, get pumped full of drugs and wake to ten cute male medical students surrounding my bed. The doctor holds up a container of my VIVID shocking blue urine to discuss with them. I attempt to hide under the bed.

(2) Romantic week in Paris (age 25). Um, issue with regularity. Serious issue with regularity. Go to pharmacy to explain "constipation" in my middling French and come back with "digestive tea" and... an enema. I so embarrassed to even show DK, but it came out and I cried big horrified tears and was confused by the contraption and... DK ended up administering it, while patting me sympathetically on my sad upturned bottom.

There. I can never show my face around here again.

[s@bd]

fantastic.
LOVE it.

(Sometimes I can think of better things to say ... but what else IS there to say? And there's NO WAY IN HECK I'm dishing on your site. If I were in the small group at the church retreat, I would have LIED.)

[Karyn]

I too will email you my most humiliating story, for I am a total chicken and don't know if I could post it here. But I will share some words and a "not so bad but still really humiliating" thing. Last week while looking at very old homes with some friends, one of whom has a new man, a much younger, gorgeous man, that I didn't know. The bathroom door didn't lock so I posted my nine year old as lookout. The key words in this situation are: ditched post, gorgeous man with horrified look, mid-wipe, ackward avoidance, long ride home. My other not so bad moment happened when I was having a conversation with my 13 year old's history teacher, a serious conversation, and the door opened, a door I was way to close to, and it knocked me down flat on my ass in front of all the teenagers and teachers on the other side. But that's not the worst. It's the trying to pretend that nothing is wrong part that gets really embarrassing. Like it's a common thing for me to fall on my butt while conversing with teachers.
So not to bad, except the mid-wipe one. Actually most of my humiliation is smaller in scale than awaking on my honeymoon to the thought of "oops". It's just that there is a frequency to my moments that sort of frightens me.

[lori]

Good Lord, Emily! I have a story which almost beats that, which I will email you since it happened to a friend and not to me. As far as you know...

[natala]

i was asked to sing/lead "love me slender", that's right, like the elvis song.... in front of a room of very obese people.
for a convention of fat folks trying to lose weight.
i had to wear a cowboy hat
and a frilly vest. because the theme was "Hoe Down". Everyone was dressed up.
and again, i sang "love me slender".
but then, i hear and audible gasp from the audience....
and then i looked behind me, and there was the most GIANT picture of me at my highest weight, blown up to fit a very large screen in front of the entire group of people.
i'm still in therapy.
that's all i'm going to say about that.

[Mike]

That is the absolute best story I've read in a long time. I got a good long laugh even though it was at your expense.

I'm one who's not embarrassed easily so I don't know if the one story I have will qualify but I'll either e-mail it to you or put it up at the usual place. On second thought, DOOCE is supposed to be in Austin for SXSW so maybe I can go embarass myself infront of a famous blogger.

[lissa]

I hope you don't mind but I told your story at a bachelorette party tonight. She is scared of the honeymoon night and I told your story and said well hey as long as this doesn't happen to you I'm sure you will be okay. Umm... again hope you don't mind and if you do, I totally didn't tell your story! I would never!

[Carly]

I actually got a little green and pukey while reading this story! Each and every one of the eight times I've done it. I just can't believe it! And I made everyone I know read it because they HAD to know this story and I knew I wouldn't do it any justice telling it myself.

[cyndy]

that is the second most hysterical thing I have ever heard happen to someone...the first was the time it, in almost freakish similarity to your event, happened to a friend of mine. We were on a Celebrity cruise, where they put little chocolates on your pillow every night. He fell asleep (more accurately, passed out) without removing the chocolate from his pillow. He also had to get up to releave himself in the middle of the night. He and his wife woke up the next morning to find him covered in brown stuff as well as the wall to the bathroom! I was hysterical as he told us the story! I just laughed so hard at your story that I think I peed a little too!
Thanks for sharing. I hope you and your husband have recovered enough to find the hilarity in the situation.

[heather]

oh my god, i scared the crap out of my cat and fiance and probably neighbours, as well, when i burst out laughing halfway through this story.

thank you so much.

[jes]

Oh, Emily. Wow. I was crying during that story because I was laughing so hard. I COULDN'T BELIEVE YOU TALKED TO PEDRO IN YOUR SLEEP! AND THAT PEDRO DIDN'T WAKE YOU UP!!

But now, I am not so mortified, knowing that it was a chocolate. But, to make the kind of scene that you described, I am imagining quite a large chocolate, like a liquer-filled chocolate bunny.