I shit my pants today.
Like many of you, I haven’t shit my pants in years. Decades, even. So, I have to admit, it made me really nervous at first.
Am I—a 34-year-old account executive—really the sort of person who accidentally releases large dumps into his Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs?
As the excrement slowly slid down the back of my thighs, my instincts told me to panic. But then I remembered the invaluable lesson I learned from career guru Mark Edelson at last year’s Presbyterians in Advertising convention:
The thing about unleashing a surprisingly wet deuce into your pants is that it’s really not as bad as they say it is. Did you ruin a pair of underwear and a pair of Chinos? Yes. Will you have a pretty irritating rash tomorrow? Most likely.
But no amount of torrential soiling can change a simple, essential fact: you are the only you.
We need to remember to be confident in ourselves, even if we are sitting in a squishy puddle of our own refuse.
We need to remember that every moment counts, even the ones in which our sphincter unexpectedly looses a biblical, corn-flecked fury on not just our ass and thighs, but even parts of our lower back.
We need to remember that we can achieve anything to which we set our minds. If you had told me twenty minutes ago that I was about to inundate my buttcheeks with my own feces and get the whole affair cleaned up before my wife, Francine (who is the Director of Human Resources in Chicago’s GrubHub office), returned home from the gym? I would have laughed in your face.
Most importantly, we need to remember that it’s important to read the label on our muscle relaxers.
The whole label.
It’s so important.