So this happened two weekends ago, but I’m going to share so you can “laugh at my pain,” as Kevin Hart says. So yeah, Bubs and I were in Santana Row for the Container Store (elfa shelving). Because I slept in late, we ended up not getting there until lunch time. I was feeling hungry, so fine, let’s eat at our old standby Pasta Pomodoro. I got my usual: gorgonzola ravioli. Delish. Even though we had never dined at this particular location, we have certainly eaten at many PP, and they are consistently good. Well not. this. time.

I mean, the meal tasted awesome going down, but after our stint with the closet expert, as soon as we got out of TCS, the shits came on fast and strong. I went to the closest coffee shop bathroom, and I swear to god, it was occupied FORever. Minutes went ticking by as my bowels tore themselves apart. Finally, we decided to head home and of course, we hit every goddamn fucking red light possible. In the car, which John already drives all herky jerky, I started sweating, so we blasted the AC. Then, I was freezing, then hot again then cold. Repeat. Holy fuck. We just barely made it home, and then my body was exhausted as hell from trying to keep that shit (literally) under control for 20 minutes. Jesus Christ. What a close call!