embarrassing? i think not

The funniest and most embarrassing stories always seem to be those that happen with future in-laws. Perhaps it's because the pressure to give them a good impression is abnormally high and that sparks situations that don't normally occur. Or the planets align just so and cause these normal occurrences to twist into some freakishly hilarious event. I don't know the reasons, and I don't have an embarrassing story that has happened with my future in-laws in the last 12 days that I've been engaged. But, the weekend before I proposed is another story. A story that I'm now going to tell.

The crackling of the fire filled the night-time sky of May 30th. I was seated around the campfire with a bunch of Lisa's friends laughing and enjoying ourselves. They were friendly and funny. We talked about many things, but eventually the theme for the night came out. Poo stories. The embarrassing type (is there any other type?). A few of the stories caused us to laugh hard enough to almost create new poo stories right then.

I didn't have a story to share with them. I felt like an outcast.

The next day, Lisa and I ate breakfast at her parents' house. Her parents asked us how the camp-out fared. I believe they were slightly shocked at the our response. I tried to contain my snorting laughter as Lisa retold a few of the stories. I tried hard to be more polite and contain my laughter; I mean, I was planning on proposing to their daughter and still needed to make a good impression! I couldn't be rolling on the ground guffawing over a poo story, and while they were also laughing, I felt ashamed at my own reaction. They waited politely for me to compose myself and asked if I had a story to share. This time when I answered that I did not have a story, I felt relieved instead of rejected. I didn't want to try and impress them with my own poo story.

The next day Lisa's parents and her brother's family were gathered together for a family BBQ. We were all outside enjoying ourselves and the beautiful weather when I felt a stirring within. I left the group and didn't announce my destination. No one noticed me leave, and Lisa's mom, who was in the kitchen, didn't notice me go downstairs. I completed my business in the bathroom, stood up, and flushed the toilet. My ears were alerted that something was wrong when they didn't hear the normal flushing sounds. That's when a quick flash of panic swept my body.

I confirmed the source of my panic after I lifted the toilet seat and peaked underneath. No worries, I thought, I'll just find the plunger and be done in a minute or two. I looked around the toilet, underneath the sink, and through all the drawers for a plunger. No luck.

Still being the optimist I am, I walked jovially down the hall and started up the stairs. The thought crossed my mind, "This could potentially be one of those really embarrassing moments that people dread." I wasn't dreading anything, but for some reason I still crept up the stairs and into the back bathroom so Lisa's mom didn't notice me. Quietly, I looked in every crevice for a plunger only to be disappointed. Once again using my stealth, I left the back bathroom and crept through the front room to avoid the kitchen (where Lisa's mom was) to go to the master bathroom. There, the treasure was found. I retraced my steps through the front room and down the stairs without the faintest sound to give away my presence.

Little more than 5 minutes had passed since I had left everyone, and I figured I would still complete the task at hand and get out without anyone knowing. With these thoughts, I stuck the plunger in the toilet and plunged. Nothing. Again I plunged. And plunged. And plunged.

I think it was about 25 minutes later that I realized that people might start to wonder where I was. The water level had only receded an inch, and I started to feel the panic return. Then I heard voices. Not just anyone's voice, Lisa and her nephew's. Feeling strangely afraid of Lisa and knowing her nephew's tendency to tell all, I felt a fear that is difficult to explain. I responded to their calls with a simple, "Yes?"

"Are you alright?" Lisa asked. "Yes, everything is fine," I responded. I was standing next to the door to prevent anyone from catching a glimpse of the horrific scene. I didn't trust the lock, and sure enough, the nephew twisted the doorknob and it opened. I stopped the door and gently pushed it closed. He asked if he could come in, and I said no. I told him the toilet was broken, but I almost had it fixed.

About 15 minutes later, I had the water almost completely out of the toilet and had a blister on my right palm. Tenderly feeling my blister, I leaned back to catch my breath, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and thought, "This will make a great story for my blog!"

I reached confidently to flush it again, pushed, and watched with horror as the toilet filled up again. I don't know exactly how much time I had spent, but I knew I needed help. If I kept trying by myself, I would end up in the hospital with my hand a bloody pulp. So, I put my shoulders back, lifted up my chin, and walked with a smile upstairs and outside to face Lisa's family. They were all gathered together around the new tree swing, and they simultaneously turned their attention on me as I walked up. This was probably the closest feeling I'll ever have to being in the front line during the Revolutionary War. I stood brave and tall and swallowed my urge to tuck my tail in between my legs and flee. I then explained my mysterious disappearance for over 45 minutes.

They laughed. And laughed. In fact, by the time Lisa's brother went down, plunged twice to fix the toilet, clean up, and walk back outside, they were still laughing.

At least I have a story now.