It was a lovely Sunday morning. It was warm and sunny, spring had finally come around, and I had been violently puke-shitting all week. That Sunday was about the second day in a row that I had finally been feeling a little better, leading me to believe that my case of the stomach flu was finally, mercifully over.

I was about 12 or 13 , and my mom was heavily into church. Seeing as though I could walk through the front door of a church without bursting into flames at the time, I didn't mind it very much, and was just happy to get out of the house. 

We took it easy for breakfast, having some toast and tea - nothing too heavy. After I was able to keep it down without a problem, we decided to get ready for the service. 

While getting dressed I heard it for the first time. *gurglehg*  My stomach was bubbling a little bit, but I figured that was what came with the territory of puking my guts out for so many days in a row. It went away. 

While peeing, I heard it once more. I didn't have to poop or anything, so again, I chumped it up to gas. 

As we were backing out of the driveway, it happened again. Except this time after the *gurglehg* noise, I felt a tiny little fart approaching. Ah yes, finally. Just needed to release a little gas. 

I eased up slightly out of my seat to welcome my little fart, which would surely alleviate my gurgling stomach. I happily awaited a cute little *toot*.

However with that cute little *toot*, came a cute little *splat*, and sensation of warmth that was definitely not there before.

"Mom, mom, MOM!"

As we began our slow descent out of the driveway, I called for my mother, voice wheedling.

I would have easily rather died than admit I shit my pants in a car full of people, so I just insisted that I just needed to talk to my mom alone, inside, now.

My mom, who probably thought I got my period for the first time, came inside the bathroom with me. As I peeled down my underwear, we were not met with the bloody miracle she was expecting, but rather a smooth little puddle of liquid shit. 

I looked up at her, speechless for one of the very few times in my unfortunate life. However I will say that context aside, it was a rather lovely color.

I made her swear not to tell, and we left the house once more with a plastic bag and an extra pair of underwear in my church bag.

That promise was extremely short lived, as she immediately announced what had happened the very second we got in the car, while I hollered from the back seat that I had shared that experience with her in confidence. 

And that is the story of that one time I sharted.