The Shit.

So I had quite an eventful weekend.

The boyfriend was on leave so went to visit him. Met at the station, he treated me to a Maccy's. I've got a keeper.

We were going to a neighbours 50th surprise party on the Friday night so we came back, got ready. I was all dressed and ready to go, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Mooched on back to the bedroom and that was when the brown stains where spotted, on the cream-coloured carpet. It's always cream-coloured when things like this happen isn't it?

Now, before I go any further, I'd like to point out that these sort of things always happen to me. You know all those embarrassing stories you have about that one friend? I am that one friend. My duty on earth is to do embarrassing things so that my friends have lots of funny stories to tell at parties. You're welcome.

So anyway, the brown stains. They were spotted by his sister - obviously brown stains can only mean two things; poo or chocolate. I was hoping for chocolate. Neither of us were willing to find out; so the boyfriend gets to kneel down and have a good whiff of them. Poo, definitely poo. 

Now, who's just come out of the bathroom? Moi. To brush my teeth. No shit had been shat while I'd been in there. Bearing in mind, it's a well know fact that girls don't defecate. And yes, I am trying to use as many synonyms as possible.

So how did it end up on the floor? We all checked our feet. Guess who had a nice brown stain on the heel of her tights? That would be me. My first thought: how the actual hell have I managed to get shit on my tights. The sister's first sentence to her brother: Have you pooed on the bathroom floor? Now that should have worried me slightly, but the fact that she wasn't pinpointing it on me made me feel slightly relieved.

But as my boyfriend hadn't pooed on the floor (thankfully), why the hell was there crap on my tights? 

Then I realised, I'd stayed at my Dad's the night before, and no he hadn't shat on my tights. No one had. His cat however, had sicked up on my tights. Apparently, she does it on occasion. Thanks for the warning father. But hey, at least it wasn't poo. Not that it makes much of a difference. I'd still trodden the equivalent of cat shit through the house. Not a great impression. Especially after the vomitting incident a few weeks back involving my vomit and his carpet.

I don't have a good relationship with this carpet.

Thankfully I have a better one with his parents; they still let me stay there, despite the fact I'm apparently on some mission to ruin their house.

Was I embarrassed? Horrendously so. Did I want to curl up into a ball and die? A little bit.

Instead, I powered on through; telling strangers the whole story at the party that evening. One story from me and they automatically felt better about their lives. It's what I'm here for. 

Good thing I have a sense of humour and very little shame, or I'd be one unhappy bunny.

There were a few more eventful happenings that weekend, involving a mis-directed firework but it didn't embarrass me, just made me fear for my life.

Either way, I think the next time I visit (if I'm allowed in the house), that I should stick to the non-carpeted areas. Like the kitchen. Or the shed. Just to be safe. 

And apologies for this being very shit - excuse the pun - has taken me two days to write this and I'm still not feeling it.