Story #2 in the Greatest Dating Stories Ever Told

I have already announced to certain people that on facebook, some friends and I are in the process of writing remarkable dating stories. This is the case for my entry of my travels in Nicaragua. So now I bring to you a story that was sent to me and in which I delivered a short commentary on...both of which were a smash hit in the facebook world. I thought that I was robbing my minor readership on this blog by not posting it and I couldn't resist but publish it here. Understand that this short, little anecdote is from an anonymous source. Actually, from a very good friend of mine. In fact, I actually pride myself in being close friends with this person; I feel as though I am boasting and I am, with good reason, as you shall see. It will not take the reader long to figure out why the author wishes to remain anonymous. I mean if this was my story, I would proudly bear this feat of unrivaled courtship slip-ups, but the author has his wife to protect and consider and therefore remains unknown. Warning: The content in this story is of a bathroom-humor style. I certainly don't want our story series to be all about that, but I certainly would not refrain from posting all-out classic tale, as this proves to be. Here it is in the orignal format:

"Once upon a time, I took the woman who is now my wife out on a date. The date started innocently enough with a Mexican dinner. Following the dinner were some thick shakes from Frozen Delight, and oh what a delight they were. The two of us got in the mood to stroll through Berryhill park because the night air was cool and crisp, ripe for romance. Eventually, we made our way to a small bridge across a small creek. I thought the timing was right so I went in for a kiss. I also thought the timing was right to let out a little flatulence. Unfortunately, a little more than gas seeped out as I dribbled my britches. The smog stank filled our nostrils and interrupted our kiss. Knowing that I was caught in my tracks, I confessed, "L___, I pooped my pants."To make a long story short, the romance that night was ended. I went to the dorm to shower, because a shower was necessary.Today, L___ is my wife. Love conquers all... even horribly timed, horribly placed defecations."

So that's that. Simple, yet profound. Both shocking and courageous; aptly delivered for an audience. In fact, if I were to have to redo my senior symposium, I believe I would do(do) it on these few paragraphs. My studies at the university taught me the tremendous ability to spend ludicrous amounts of time AND money analyzing concepts of style and meaning; let me give my education (and their trailing loans) their rightful recompense on this fecal subject.

The entire piece is summed up and given its climactic concentration in the phrase, "L____, I pooped my pants." Few other sentences in the broad range of modern literature carry such pervasive importance. For this sweeping phrase constitutes the enlightened realization not only of his state of poopdom to his beloved, but it is also the exact point of realization to his very self that he has, indeed, pooped in his pants. The speaker here, (let us call him 1st Person Mr. Poopy Pants) sort of comes to himself and grows through this rich experience into a much nobler self-actualization. Also, his test in character, he assuredly passes....for he could have kept silent. But no, he climbed the prodigious heights of integrity, and spoke thus: "L_____, I pooped my pants."

Now, notice the significant proponents of this powerful statement. 1st Person Mr. Poopy Pants does not just say, "I pooped IN my pants." No, he declares, "I pooped my pants." It is the magic of leaving out the preposition. For when one is pooping in their pants who has time for prepositions? I mean, our first Grammar teachers never taught us this trick because, in a classroom setting, it never seemed plausible that one was actually pooping in one's pants (Little did they know my classmates.) The point here is that the act of "pooping one's pants" is of a phenomenal magnificance that important parts of speech, verbs, nouns, pronouns, are all that really matter. They just sort of spill out like the very act the speaker is describing. In some cases, First Person Mr. Poopy Pants might have been bolder by leaving out even the pronouns as well by asserting, "L____,......pooped......pants." But this would have been altogether undecipherable to his beloved standing there in the darkness, on the bridge, wondering what interrupted their appointment of affection.

You can only imagine what type of elation the author must have felt after composing this little masterpiece. In fact, soon after, he wrote me again saying, "I sent a doozie of a dating story for your noteboard! WEEEE!!!!!"He could barely contain his joy at composition which I, sharing in his inspirational jubilation, wrote him back, " Yes, you did. You inspire me to want to go out with a girl and crap in my britches as well. Wouldn't it be cool also...if L___ pooped in her britches but never told you. That would mean the both of you are destined to be with each other." And so concludes my "thesis on feces" as my friend, the author of this work, termed it. I am frightfully sorry if this was of bad taste to any of my readers.

WORKS CITED

Blitheberry, Barnabus. "The Supplementary Analysis of Quantitative Bowel Movements in Contemporary Times." New York, NY. 1988.

Schreinenburger, Lawrence. "Searching for Dr. Doodie: His Life and Times."London: Newarker Press. 1974.