Although it may sound like what I'm about to declare is cynical, I assure you that this is not the case. Simply put, throughout my life I've observed many people and things, resulting in my having certain attitudes and beliefs. Many, or more likely, most people will disagree and this is where the label of Cynic would be bestowed upon me.
I don't believe in God, Jesus or Heaven and Hell. The likelihood that once upon a time there was a dude named Jesus, is possible. Hell, you could go down any street in the greater Los Angeles area, call out that name and a half dozen fellas of Latin decent will respond, so the likelihood of one existing in the "biblical" age, is possible. He probably wouldn't have been found at a Home Depot.... Although, Jesus WAS a carpenter, wasn't he? 🤔 Hmm. Subject for another day.
I also do not believe in coincidences, accidents or luck. Not good luck, anyway. I am somewhat superstitious. Not to the point that I believe Friday the 13th to be cursed, nor do I think it unfortunate if a black cat crosses my path. However, I do think that if I break a mirror I will receive seven years of bad luck, although with a good lawyer, you might get that reduced to three years with good behaviour. 😄 [Insert comedic rimshot here 🥁]. I think Wednesdays tend to be the worst day of the week for me, but have improved over the course of the last year, so perhaps I can lay that one to rest. And red underwear promotes diarrhea.
"WAIT!! What was that last one?" you all are probably saying to yourselves. "Red underwear does what now?"
I've discovered through trial and error that consistently, whenever I leave the house wearing red underwear, I usually will have an accident or what is called in the armed forces as a near miss. Today I had a near miss and I will tell you all about it.
It was dark and I was still half asleep when I dressed myself for work, this morning, so I never noticed what colour of undies I was stepping into. I got to work and everything went as planned. I arrived downtown late and missed the shuttle back to the garage, so I waited. When I finally got back to the Operations Center where we keep the buses, I had to go inside to fill out the sheet for overtime. It was when I was returning to my vehicle to come home when I felt a little pfft. A little fart snuck out like a teen sneaking out her bedroom window to see the bad boy her parent disapprove of. Only the aftermath of this sneaky little ripper felt... off. I stopped dead in my tracks, standing in the middle of the parking lot looking perplexed. It wasn't until I sat down in my vehicle before I realized what had actually happened. If the wetness I felt in my undercarriage wasn't enough to convince me, the stench certainly did. Woof!! 😬
What's done was done. No getting around that. I had planned on stopping off at the grocer on the way home and decided to follow through with that plan rather than racing home. I figured I could salvage my situation in the public restroom before going home.
Have you ever had to "go" really bad and as soon as you arrived at home, it's like your body believes it's okay to open the flood gates before you get to the restroom? That never happened to me, but like I said, today's debacle was a near miss.
The moment I parked my truck and began my trek into the store, the same thing occurred. My body thought it was time to unleash the Hounds of Hell at which moment, I tightly clenched my cheeks and I'm not talking about the rosy red ones on my face. Now I had to quickly make my way inside the store, walking only from the knees down and very little movement everywhere else. It was all eyes straight forward, avoid eye-contact with everyone and steer straight into the bathroom. You avoid eye-contact because at moments like these, everyone becomes psychic and they suddenly know you're in peril and will either intervene, forcing the matter to be even more intense. Or they'll stand back and stare with judging eyes. Either way, I don't wish to engage.
Before the door was completely open, I saw a sign stating the toilet was out of order. "Oh shit!!" I said aloud, but then noticed there were two stalls. A reprieve!! After removing my heavy coat and gloves is when I discovered the aftermath AND that I was wearing red underwear.
I ate a salad on the weekend. Within a few hours, the lettuce and everything had vacated my body and it wasn't pleasant. At the time, I believed that it was because I may have put too much dressing on the salad. I'd shaken the bottle so instead of thick ranch dressing oozing out of the bottle, it was a liquified ranch that came rushing out of the bottle. So last night, when I finished off the pack of salad, I used much less dressing, even adding croutons and cheese to the blend. So when I discovered the tragedy that had occurred in my skivvies, I was bewildered.
Later in the day, I had to consult Google as to whether salads cause diarrhea and guess what? I was not the first person to pose this query to the search engine, nor am I the lone wolf affected by this. Apparently, because salads are high in fibre, it promotes bowel movements and because lettuce has high water content, the afore mentioned bowel movements are often liquified.
🤨 The shit you learn... Pardon the pun.
I finished out my tasks, including filling up with fuel. The nastiness was behind me (Again, pardon the pun.) I had makeshift protection in my pants in the form of folded T.P., which got me thinking about a product to pitch to the folks on Shark Tank. A protection pad for men. Similar to those pads that the ladies use, only these would be designed to guard against sharting. It happens way too often. Hell, I remember missing my best friend's son's baptism because I sharted on the way to the church. That was not a near miss. The attack that day struck with heavy vengeance. Today's nastiness was mainly water, I believe, but this is bordering on T.M.I..
I had initially called them Shart Pads, but quickly changed the name to Shartnado Pads. [Patent Pending 😉] It's just a catchier name.
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