big D

Sometimes I speak in code. I’m not sure why. I think everyone around me knows exactly what I’m saying but when I speak in code I can pretend they don’t. Sometimes I think I’m funny, but I know I’m really not. Speaking in code makes me feel funnier than I am.


Sunday morning I got up pretty early [6:30 a.m.] because we had talked about cooking spaghetti before church, which started at 9:30. Scott and Andie had to leave Logan by around 12:45 in order to make connections around 4 p.m. So I quietly tip-toed into the kitchen knowing Scott was sleeping on Mikelle’s couch in the front room. I turned on the laundry room light and just cracked the door enough to barely see and started cooking the hamburger.

Dang if he didn’t wake up and yell, “Go to bed!!!!!” in a pretty grumpy voice. I meekly whispered back, “Mikelle wanted me to cook the spaghetti this morning before church.” “Go to bed!!!!!” bellowing from the couch.

I heard a thump and then a growl, someone tripping and stomping into the bathroom. I peeked down the hall and saw a light under the door so I concluded he decided to sleep in there. When I saw the light off a few minutes later I was sure he had curled up on the bathroom floor with a blanket and pillow.

Fast-forward 5 minutes.

My intestines were getting very ready for their morning evacuation. I like to call it the big D. [See, speaking in code. It’s not as disgusting as saying the big Dump, or BM or poop.] Anyway the D was making itself know and I was feeling quickly desperate. Scott was in the bathroom and I daren’t wake him up again. And I didn’t want to go into the newlywed’s bedroom/bathroom so I came to the logical conclusion that I’d need to head outside and beyond. I grabbed two paper towels and headed out, making sure I unlocked the door and left it open a crack because I didn’t have keys.

Long story short, I found a place behind a camper out in the parking near a fence and did the D. Whew. Big relief. Just barely made it. I headed back to the apartment and climbed up to the third floor to number 307. The door was shut and locked. Wow. All I could figure was Scott heard that the house was quiet and decided to come back into the front room to sleep on the couch, noticed the door open a crack and locked it. So I knocked quietly, knowing I would receive wrath but couldn’t think of anything else to do. After all, I had hamburger cooking on the stove, had no keys, no cell phone. I had to knock. Knocks turned into ringing the doorbell and knocking even louder. I reviewed all my options again and realized I would just have to get in there even if he was going to be mad.

Finally the door opened but to my complete and utter surprise [horror would not be too strong a word!] it wasn’t Scott standing there. In fact I did not know this person. I was shocked to see a sleepy guy in his shorts with a look of disbelieve that someone was insistent on getting him up at approximately 6:40 a.m. After many apologies and a quick discussion about how to get to the right apartment, I hurried away. As I went down the three flights I realized there were indeed six identical apartment structures in this complex surrounding their common grassy area full of courts and play areas and kid’s climbing apparatus. I looked around for something familiar, trying to orient myself and saw that I had made a wrong turn coming back from the big D. I eventually found the right building and climbed the stairs again to find the door 307 still cracked open and the hamburger ready to turn.

[Mikelle and Logan always park on the east of their place but I thought it would be closer and smarter to park over to the north. Said camper was right next to my car in the other lot, which was a little closer to their front stairs up to the third floor. But when I came back I turned right, thinking I was still over on the east where I usually park; but No. Big No. I should have turned left. If I had parked in the correct place, I would have turned right, but coming from the north, I should have turned left.] [Or I should have dropped little pieces of bread on the ground leading back to he correct complex much like Hansel and Gretel smartly concluded.]

Seriously, they should have painted all the buildings a slightly different color so that old and fragile and quickly-becoming-demented people heading out for an emergency D could safely find their way back. Seriously. Is that asking too much?

Or at the very least, an A, B ,C ,D, E and F on each of the six buildings to identify them. Surely someone else has lodged this concern to their complaint department.

PS: The really sad discovery was that Scott wasn’t in the bathroom after all. He had gone into the bedroom where I had been sleeping earlier and curled up so the bathroom really wasn’t occupied after all and I could have saved myself a trip to the outdoors if only I had known.

8 thoughts on “big D

  1. tracy

    OMSH!!! You are hilarious! This is even worse than my Big D on the side of Hwy 20 at 40 weeks pregnant!

    And I thought I was impulsive!

  2. tracy

    The correct category for this post is Dang it!, Oh puhLEASE!, Pot hole!, or Where it hurts. Don’t ya think?

  3. jessica

    Oh my STINKING heck, and what an appropriate euphemism, wouldn’t you say? Hahahaha, so funny Miss Tracy’s Mom. Hahahaha.

    Also, Tracy, I have not heard the Big D on the highway at 40 weeks pregnant story. Do tell!

    Am adopting ‘big D’ by the way.

  4. weighingmatters Post author

    Oh that’s right! stinking . . . . and so fitting. Yah, Tracy, you’ve got to tell about the big highway D. That’s a story to be told.

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