A Public Restroom Shitastrophy

I was attending a fund raiser for my son’s school that involved a very nice a cocktail hour, sit down dinner, silent auction, and some guest speakers. Since we are fancy people it was jacket/tie type of thing. The weather was not cooperating at all. It was pouring rain, windy, and cold. This meant the possibility of me wearing a cocktail dress was slim to none. I opted to wear a black jumpsuit to say I am stylish, but practical. It looked a lot cooler than it sounds.

My all-in-one outfit was made of a lovely clingy jersey material. In order to not scorch the corneas of the other attendees I employed the necessary shape-ware to create the silhouette of one smoking hot lady. In all reality I looked like a sausage encapsulated in my garments. I snapped my bra straps into the “bra strap guides” on my black Onesie, put on my cap sleeve sweater, and spent 10 minutes trying to figure out how the hell to tie the belt around the middle. I was ready to take on Manhattan, or a grade school fund raiser.

I was completely entombed in my outfit, which would be an issue if I needed to use the facilities. A situation I had not thought of until I walked into the event. In an effort to not spend 20 minutes in the restroom I knew I would need to avoid alcohol and sip water. After 4 hours at the event I could not wait no longer, I had to go to the bathroom NOW.

I excused myself to the restroom and when I entered the facilities I was hit with the horrendous stench of shit. Oh my god it was horrible. Some woman was in there basically dying. I didn’t have a choice, it was pee myself or brave the noxious gases. I entered into the stall that was furthest from the bomber and started my disrobing as quickly as I could. I tried breathing through my mouth, but it was the smell was so bad I could taste it. Holy shit! I gagged and worked as fast as possible. But my little fingers were not behaving, I couldn’t get my straps unsnapped so I could take my outfit down. Then the shape wear was too tight from sweat and over eating that it was basically a second layer of skin. It would not budge. Panic was setting in.

The noises coming from the other stall had me highly concerned. I think the woman was trying to pass her entire intestine. I heard uuuhhhhhh, grrrrrrrrrr, unnnnhhhhh, oohhhhhhhhh and other indiscernible sounds. It was horrible. Why does this shit happen to me?!

I finally was able to unsnap the bra guide and unhook the back. I gagged and threw up in my mouth a little. I untied the belt, pulled the outfit down, rolled down my shape wear and marveled momentarily at the imprint all over my stomach. I kept my hand pressed over my mouth trying to stifle the smell to no avail. I actually sat on the toilet because I didn’t have time for hovering, and properly toilet papering the seat was even a possibility.

I took care of business as fast as I could. I then rolled up my window-shade shape wear, hoisted my stylish one-piece-de-resistance, said fuckit to the bra guides, left the back unbuttoned, gagged some more, and held hand to my mouth in an effort to override the smell. I opened the door and glanced momentarily at the sink opting to not wash my hands because another second in there was gonna kill me. I left the restroom with my belt in my hands  and put on my sweater on the way back to the table. I was sure the stench had seeped into my clothes and hair, it surely had singed itself into my nostrils.

When I returned to my seat I couldn’t help but wonder 1) who the mystery shitter was and 2) did this person require medical intervention. About 10 minutes later I learned the mystery shitter was a tiny little old lady who sat one table over from me acting like her shit didn’t smell. She appeared to be fine so no medical intervention was necessary.

Next time I am wearing the cocktail dress or I’m peeing in the men’s room, school function or not.

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