Disclaimer: What you are about to read might be disgusting to some viewers. Especially if you’re eating lunch or take issue with excrement humor. (And if you fall into the latter category, are we friends in real life? If so, how?!)
I’m pretty good at texting. As a matter of fact, I’ve got very agile thumbs in addition to an agile mind. This combination typically allows me to carry on multiple conversations in one text session with the same person. And if it gets too backed up or starts to get confusing, I’ll just send a text with a list of numbered or lettered responses to each topic being discussed, which usually gets things back on track pretty quickly.
So when I found myself in a text conversation with a good friend today, and I had only introduced one new idea into the mix, I was confident I could handle it.
The main conversation was in regard to said friend’s current situation with a member of the opposite sex, whom she’s been talking with and seeing. Long story short, and without giving too many of her personal details, some plans she had were throw off kilter, so she had to rearrange some things and check to make sure other things with this dude were still in order for something coming up.
So I asked if the guy responded to her initial inquiry.
She relayed that he had.
And I responded with a “Well, there you go.”
A few moments had passed, and I realized that the Taco Bell I had eaten this past Wednesday was just about done scrubbing clean the walls of my colon. In other words, I really needed to use the bathroom.
There’s something you should know about my friend and I: a lot of our random texts to each other, in addition to being about guys or what’s on tv or other random nonsense, revolve around farts and poop. (So yes, fellas, girls do indeed fart and poop. And we even sit around and talk and laugh about it or compare notes. I hope I haven’t shattered all of your fantasies. But look, you ever get married or at the very least get serious with a woman, I’m sure these fantasies would be shattered in that respect anyways. So just consider this divulging of information a service to you. Preparedness for the future if you will. And really, it’s not all that bad. Far better than menstruation talk. But I digress…)
Like I was saying, we text about shit sometimes. Literal shit. And since I took my phone in the restroom to catch up on Words With and Hanging With Friends, when I noticed that my shit smelled like sauerkraut, I of course wanted to tell her. So I did.
“I had Taco Bell the other day. And now, I believe it is clearing my tunnels. Omg.
And why does my shit smell like sauerkraut?!?!”
After a few seconds, my friend wrote back: “Good sign, right?”
 | |
| Um, excuse me but...whaaaaat?! |
Now, in my mind I went back through all of the WebMD pages my borderline hypochondriac self has scoured over the years.
Is it a good sign when your BM smells like grandma’s kitchen on Easter? (I’m Slovak and Hungarian…sauerkraut in my family is just as natural for a big holiday dinner as potatoes or deviled eggs, or some sort of main meat dish…)
And a sign of what exactly? That my colon is in happyland? That I likely won’t be shitting myself on the way to Chicago tonight---or worse, forced to shit in a public place because my bowels have now been sufficiently evacuated?
My shit…smells like sauerkraut.
 | |
| HOW IS THIS A GOOD SIGN?! |
I haven’t even eaten cabbage…let alone sauerkraut…in over two months. Is it in my DNA somehow? Did a Slovakian gnome somehow sneak into my bedroom at night and sleep-feed me copious amounts of kraut without my knowledge?
Oh.
My.
God.
AM I SLEEP-DRIVING/SWIMMING TO HUNGARY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!
What is going on?!?!?! I simply just don't understand how this can be a good sign?!
It wasn't until panic and confusion had almost completely taken hold that I finally realized:
My friend was not responding to my short-short story on sauerkraut craps. She was responding to the situation with her guy from earlier.
I had lost control of my text conversation.
Serves me right for texting on the shitter I guess. Especially since I've already lost one phone to "death by toilet drowning."
So I immediately wrote back, “I hope you meant that about *guy’s name withheld* and not my shit smelling like sauerkraut. Lol” (I added the "lol" in order to hide the fact that I had just spent 2 full minutes trying to diagnose the cause of my cabbage crap and what kind of mystical sign it was giving me. "How about you just give me winning lottery numbers? Not the smell of a staple food from my heritage...")
And followed up with, “If so, yes.”
Almost immediately she wrote back, “Bwwwwhahaha. My farts smelled so weird yesterday. And yes I meant “guy’s name withheld.”
And with that, all was well again. Text conversation back on track. The world can carry on as usual.
Save for the fact that I still can’t figure out why my shit smelled like sauerkraut…
Ah…mysteries!
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