There is such a thing as the cathartic poo. After such a bowel movement one might stand and say internally or even aloud, “Why, I feel five pounds lighter. There is a spring in my step, and I do believe it is time to go a capering. Huzzah, and have at thee, life!”
This was not one such deuce. It didn’t help that I was in a Denny’s restroom that smelled like trucker ass and cheap potpourri at two AM. Meanwhile an assembled host of friends and acquaintances finished off powdery pancakes and greasy eggs. A large part of me hoped they’d leave without me, as forgetting me in the bathroom was a far less embarrassing story than if they were to find me passed out on the cold tile.
“Nick, you okay?” an angel’s voice floated through the door whilst I labored in my personal fecal hell.
I lied, “I’m fine,” then compounded the lie, “just got distracted, you know, Angry Birds,” and then made it all the worse, “Be out in a minute.” My eyes wide at my own folly I could only curse inwardly, Out, out damn dump!