fyi, i had some serious gastrointestinal issues all weekend. if you’re freaked out by that sentence, please stop reading immediately. go wash you hands and forget you ever knew me. because after two years, the scars have healed and i’m in the mood to share a tragic tale. because i don’t think i ever told you about the time (briefly mentioned here) i had some weird stomach thing and had to poo in a jar.
that’s a story — if you can stomach it — worth sharing on the internet.
so, i had this stomach virus, and after two weeks of consuming nothing but crackers (and not being so successful getting those through the door, so to speak) some weird family doctor in Clintonville sent me home with a couple of jars. my directive? to collect a sample.
but these were no ordinary jars. these were huge jars. and i had to fill one of them to a certain line. kinda like some horrifying Double Dare challenge — only the stakes were much, much higher. to this day, I have never met a mortal ordered to accomplish such a task. even maybel the bulldog is spared such demoralizing demands when i take her to the vet’s office. she only has to fill a small baggie with with stuff. i met a girl once who had to collect a swab, but never a jar.
so, to make a long story short, the first round was pitiful. i hadn’t eaten in years, and i didn’t even make it to the 20 percent line. if i remember correctly, the stuff couldn’t exactly sit around very long. i had to run it over to the lab when i was ready, and it was an all-or-nothing sort of situation. you can’t deliver 20 percent of the goods. so now what?
exactly. and if you’re wondering what a girl does with a jar she couldn’t fill, i’ll refer you to the story of Original Sin.
you see, when adam and eve ate the fruit from the Tree of Life, shame quickly became the foundation of the human condition. at first, after becoming frighteningly aware of their own nakedness, they sewed some fig leaves together in a meager attempt to cover themselves. then, when the couple heard the sound of the lord as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, they hid from him. they hid behind some trees.
and at that moment in time, i, too, knew the raw power of nakedness and shame.
so i hid. the jar, that is. i hid the jar in a closet, for fear that my husband would find out my doctor’s orders. at the time, i couldn’t bring myself to tell him what i had to do. even after two years of marriage, i didn’t want to talk about the — what’s another euphemism? — situation. so i sealed the jar in the bright orange biohazard baggie, and i put it in a place that maybe even god wouldn’t know about. i vowed to throw it away in the cover of darkness.
the next day, my second attempt was more fruitful, if you will, and after i had done my part, my diagnosis was handed down by Doc Demoralizer. turns out i had “stomach bug” or something equally as vague, and i was told to stay away from crackers (THE BUGS FEED ON THE CRACKERS) and i ate a couple greasy cheeseburgers and was cured in a few short days. true story.
in my elated state of mind — i’m a girl who loves to eat, mind you, and i had been able to for the first time in weeks — i forgot about the terrible thing i had done in a moment of weakness.
i discovered the Jar of Shame when we moved a few months later.
i managed to slip the biohazard bag into the trash without anyone noticing. on earth, at least.
everyone knows you can’t hide your shit from jesus.
(there is a deeply meaningful religious parable in there. i can feel it.)
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