#18: One of those things that's okay when you're 20 months old...not 20 years old...

Warning: 1) This is kinda gross.
                2) Don't judge me. Or it will happen to YOU too. :)

      Ok, so once upon a time, I was getting ready to go on my mission. I'd already had the Bishop's interview and had scheduled the interview with my Stake President to get my papers rollin.' The night of the interview, my friends and I decided to go to Macaroni Grill for dinner. I can't remember what the occasion was...Lindsay's birthday maybe...? Anyway, I love Macaroni Grill because they give you crayons and you can draw on the tablecloth, and I just have a hay day every time covering the area with doodles and faces and whatnot. However, I do not like Macaroni Grill because whenever I get some sort of buttery pasta dish, it makes me feel sick. Like, REALLY sick.
    This day was no different. We enjoyed our meals, but by the time I paid my bill, my intestines were sending out some major S.O.S. signals. I also had my interview to get to, and still needed to go home and change into church clothes. As I left the restaurant, my innards were having a raging dance party and I knew not only did I need to get home, I needed to get home FAST.
  The distance between Macaroni Grill and my then-apartment is probably about 15-20 minutes, which would make it about 15-20 minutes too long. I hated speeding, but went a little fast in worries that I might not make it. I knew it would be a close call, but trusted on the tender mercies of the Lord. However, the closer I approached home, the closer my large intestine was to becoming more infamous than Mount Vesuvius. The clock ticked ever so slowly....soon I was on the verge of perspiring from a mix of anxiety and corporal agony. My thoughts became increasingly more panicked as I drove: "...getting closer....sweet heavens help me make it...(I really started praying....)...oh my gosh I'm going to be late for my mission appointment....oh my gosh...oh my gosh...please make it...please make iiiiitttttt....... HOME!!!!!" 
   I parked as quickly as possible. However, those last torturous 15-20 minutes had been sufficient for my body to convert every last solid particle in my belly into a liquified concoction of unadulterated hell. I began walking quickly...then broke into a sprint...then very quickly realized that running was NOT a good idea...but I was desperate. I half-ran, have sped walked. It was a race. A race between me and my  intestines. Every other system in my body was ready for the ultimate showdown. I was SO close. SOOO close. And then, 25 steps before I reached my apartment door...I exploded.
   I want you to think for a moment what your first thought would be if you suddenly crapped your pants without having any self-control at all. I would imagine it would be similar to mine: "Oh my gosh. I crapped my pants." Yes, profound, I know. I'm sure you can already imagine the subsequent thoughts of embarrassment and feelings of idiocy.
    I quickly burst through my apartment door and was in the bathroom in 2 seconds, where I remained for the next 20 minutes. By the time I got out, my roommates had sensed that something was very wrong and asked if I was okay. I told them, "No...I am SO sick," grabbed new clothes, and went back to the bathroom.
   Now, I don't want you to think that God was totally merciless. Sometime during the whole ordeal, I got a call from the Stake Secretary asking if it would be okay to make my appointment a little later, as the Stake President was running behind. Tender mercies. And fortunately, after all of that, I was okay. I survived, had a successful interview, and three months later received my call to lovely Paraguay...where, like almost everyone else, had intestinal problems at least once a week for the duration of my time there.