My mother turned 49 years young on Friday. She went out with her younger sister to celebrate. Today, while at her belated birthday dinner, we shared the following conversation.
Mom: I didn't have a very good birthday.
Me: Why?
Mom: Well...I was driving around with (my sister) Sarah and....
Me: And?
Mom: I shit my pants.
Me: You what?
Mom: I thought it was just fart but I shit instead. All over.
Me: between bouts of laughter You don't know how timely this discussion really is. Anyway, it isn't' a big deal. I shit in my hand; you shit in your pants. It is in the genes so to speak. Or at least in your jeans.
Mom: Fuck you. I want to go home.
Me: Can I write about this?
Mom: stares daggers in my direction
She didn't say no, now did she.
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