The Wet Horseshoe of Shame

Sometimes things happen. Things that you'll never, as long as you are breathing, ever live down. Not too long ago, when I was working, we were in the faculty lounge telling funny dating stories. I shared this one. I also read a similar story online not too long ago as well.  I think after 10 years this can be safely told to the general public.

Once upon a time, when I was 17, I went on a date. This was a very new relationship. It was an all-day date. We went to Salt Lake and ate lunch, shopped and did the Temple Square stuff, went to some museums, and then went out to eat a second time on the way home. I know, who goes out to eat twice in a day? By the end of the night, boy, my tummy was sure rumbly. Rumbly in a "flatulence-could-fix-this" sort of way.

So. We were at the park sitting on a hill, talking and laughing at whatever it is teenagers laugh at. We were laughing really hard. This was a bad deal. You can't have gas and be laughing hard at the same time. The two do not work well together.

We've all been there. How can I get this giant ball of gas out and not let anyone hear it? What is someone supposed to do in this situation? Umm, excuse me, I need to walk away so you don't hear me fart? No, that wasn't going to work. Hold it in? That's not good for anybody. I hear it travels up to your brain, and that's where crappy ideas come from. So you go with the next best option, the "slow release" and hope that it comes out silent. Yes, that might work.

Did I mention that my date was super funny? I was laughing REALLY hard. He was sitting on my right, and he was so hilarious. And cute. I was laughing so hard, that somehow I fell over on my side. Butt aimed directly at him.

And as I fell...

Oh, it was bad. It was so bad. The hope for a slow release was immediately doused by the loudest, longest, most horrific fart ever produced by a human being. Right. In. His. Face.  I tried to stop it, I tried to squeeze those cheeks, but there was too much force behind it.

And what do you think happened next?

Two things simultaneously:

1. My date fell over on the ground, convulsing with laughter.
2. I lost all bladder control.


You read that right. I lost all bladder control. I can't even explain it. I'm still not quite sure how the body even lets that happen.

Body: "Hey, I know you just farted on your date, so I'm just going to end this now and have you soil yourself. Hope you never wanted to go out with anyone ever again. Time to buy some cats."

I peed those pants. Not just a little pee. Bladder-emptying-wet-to-the-knees kind of thing. I was pretty sure that God was getting me back for something I did wrong at some point in my life.

I burst into tears.

There I was, with wet pants, my date was rolling on the ground laughing at me, and I had just had a fart loud enough to break the sound barrier. Wouldn't you cry too? 

The short walk back to my house never seemed so long. My pants were soaked with the wet horseshoe of shame, on display for the whole neighborhood to see.  



The story does have a happy ending. A few years later, the same boy asked me to marry him on the same hill. We got married and had beautiful babies and lived happily ever after.  I didn't even have to buy a single cat.