TMI Thursday: Where I Over Share For Your Pleasure, Vol. 2

Monday night eCrush and I met in a public place for A Discussion, which is really code for having dinner at that questionable Mexican place while I rant at him for his stupidity in ruining our relationship and then insult the size of his manhood. After which eCrush continues with the Big Time Groveling and further pleads my for my gracious forgiveness, and then by un-vocalized yet still mutual decision, we adjourn to my place so we can make out like horny tenth-graders. We were happily entrenched in that last part when eCrush suddenly stopped things mid-boob feel. He stood up, paused for a moment and Jackie Joyner-Kerseed for the bathroom.

About twenty minute later, after hearing bathroom noises that I now equate to The Nuclear Bomb of Bowel Movements…

Me (tentative, being not really sure what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend make out partner ambiguous guy thing is experiencing stomach distress in your bathroom): Um, eCrush? You OK in there? Can I get you anything?

eCrush (like a pitiful dying puppy): Go away.

You don’t have to ask me twice.

Fifteen minutes later, the noises hadn’t stopped. In fact their frequency had picked up. Plus there was moaning of the “I’m in intestinal hell” variety. Clearly eCrush was not doing well. But by that point, neither was I. Seems the questionable Mexican restaurant had gone all Montezuma’s Revenge on us…

Me (close to point of desperation): eCrush, are you going to be much longer? I need to use the toilet.

eCrush (all plaintive): I don’t think you want to come in here (moan) EVER. And I don’t think I am anywhere near done (moan).

Me (reaching Way Frantic on the Calm to Holy Freaking Jesus Scale): I don’t care how toxic it is. I have to use the toilet. Like NOW. And you’re in the only bathroom in my apartment. So get OUT!

eCrush (rather forcefully, considering): No. You have to find alternative accommodations.

Me (just this side of Dire Emergency): I don’t think so. It’s my bathroom. It’s my apartment. I pay a lot of money each month for its use. So, pull up your pants and let me in.

eCrush: NO. (which was followed by a sound that solidified his point)

Me (officially at OHMYGODPANIC stage): But I’m the giiiiiirrrrrllll. I should get the bathroom! I have to go!

eCrush (making a suggestion that in retrospect, I do not appreciate): Equality of the sexes, baby. Now go squat over a trash can or something.

Me (thinking that’s not going to do it): You are disgusting. I hope you die in there. I’ll be back.

And with that, I sprinted down four flights of stairs and two hallways, to the concierge desk, where I jumped around while Jamal the Hot Concierge took his sweet time fetching the key to the guest bathroom.

An hour later, upon my return to Chez Apartment…

eCrush: How about we never speak of this again. Pinky swear?

While I fully recognize the pinky swear as binding, eCrush never mentioned blogging.


6 Responses to “TMI Thursday: Where I Over Share For Your Pleasure, Vol. 2”

  1. suz Says:

    Man, first he commits the number one relationship sin, then he doesn’t let you in your own bathroom?

  2. Laina Says:

    I’m so happy right now that I have two bathrooms. Of course I could have up to three times as many people needing to USE them, but they can all share the one I’m not in.

  3. LiLu Says:

    We have also had problems with the 2-People,1-Toilet sitch. Props to you for sharing it with the blogosphere. We’re here for you!

  4. Maxie Says:

    Oh god… well at least it wasn’t a first date.

  5. Zandria Says:

    Oh, wow. That’s horrible! At least you had access to the guest bathroom. I don’t have one of those and there’s only one bathroom here at my apartment — so I’d be out of luck.

  6. michelle Says:

    wow! if someone told me to squat over a trash can in my own house… well they would not be in said house for much longer 😛

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