BLOG: My Secret Shame

I was recently invited to join a secret Facebook Group, which I didn’t know was even a THING. This one is comprised of some men but mostly women who have the exact same warped sense of humor as me. They started this page so they would have a safe place to post the stories they found and loved but were too filthy to put on their personal page. I, of course, jumped in head-first.

Someone on the page started a Secret Shame discussion recently, and everyone else joined in. The results have been nothing short of glorious. I asked if I could share some of these on my website and a handful of lovely people said I could IF they were posted anonymously. THIS is the result.

Know before you start reading that most of the Secret Shames involve bodily functions and/or profanity. That’s what makes them so secretly shameful. Also, one of more of these are my own personal stories but don’t bother asking which ones. I’m not saying!

-I recently sh*t my pants while out running with my husband and had to hide behind a car repair sign while he went to get towels and the car. No underwear, shorts, poop running down legs, into sneakers. Humiliating and total shame – and horrifyingly funny. I was laughing so hard while I waited behind the sign. The smell was pure grossness and it made my legs itch.

-I spent at least 20 minutes plucking hairs from my inexplicably inflamed armpit, using the rearview mirror of my Suburban to see what the heck I was doing. This means I was engaged in said activity outside in my driveway. I don’t think anyone saw me though.

-My secret shame is the semi-attractive “Little Person” I saw at a restaurant & how I couldn’t stop staring at/flirting with him. I was DYING to ask him a million dirty questions & couldn’t stop giving him the eye. He totally noticed & gave me a “I get this sh*t all the time” look. The worst part is that I had my kids with me at the time.

-This one is not funny at all, but something I am very much ashamed of: Once I stole a tip jar from a bar. Just to see if I could get away with it. I was young, drunk, and stupid, and I bawled my eyes out after leaving the place with a purse-ful of loose change. My boyfriend at the time was very unhappy with me that night. I think I got out of there with around $20. Since then, I’ve tried to make up for it by overtipping on occasion. I’ve never forgotten how it felt to be that kind of an a**hole. The worst thing about it is how out of character it was for me to do something so sh*tty.

-Secret shame of the day. I’m at the car dealership getting my car serviced while I’m perusing porn on tumblr. That is all.

-Sometime during the first year my husband and I were dating, I snarted in front of his parents. Sneeze-farted, not sharted (just to be perfectly clear). His poor dad tried to ignore it, but my future-husband made sure to comment very loudly: “You farted! You just farted in front of my parents!” After which his mother started giggling uncontrollably and I sat there, red-faced, wondering how I could kill him without going to jail.

-When giving birth to my youngest, my doc informed me when he was crowning, so I reached down to feel his little head, which totally looked like I was masturbating right in front of my husband, his mom, and my dad. One of them said, “Well, that’s not something you see every day.”

-Okay. Secret shame. In Seoul, post workout (so dressed in Lycra), walking around this market and surrounded by Koreans. I had to pee. Badly. My friend gets a call but can’t swipe her phone to answer because her fingers were covered in grease from some street food she was eating. I get tickled. She says to me, “Don’t make me laugh or I’ll sh*t my pants.” At which point, I came unglued. Full on crotch grabbing, legs crossed trying not to pee myself in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I’m in Lycra so the pee is running down my leg. I then fell to the ground (legs still crossed and still holding my crotch). At this point, there is a f**king discernible stream of pee running down this alleyway of Seoul. So yes. I fully pissed myself in public and fully sober. The brilliant part is that it was in a place where no one else knew me. So f**k it.

And finally, this story from one of the group’s few men. It was pretty long so I condensed it for him. Let’s just say that he was looking at houses with his realtor, wife, child and Mother-In-Law when he was stricken with a horrible bowel-trauma. Read on, but with caution. It’s pretty graphic, which is why I love it so.

-As we get to the fourth house my condition, it’s becoming critical. They start downstairs, so I shoot upstairs knowing that I have approximately 20 more seconds of life as I know it. I am relieved to find that this house is being lived in so the water is on. In my panic I start fumbling with the belt and suit pants and get about 50% into a squatting position when I reenact both Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
This is about the time the tour of the first floor comes to an end and now everyone starts to come up.
I picked the bathroom where the family had apparently started their packing. Every cabinet, every shelf, every drawer, empty. In complete panic I opt for my only choice: The drapes covering the window in the shower. I don’t know many things in life but I do know one thing, a sheer piece of material 12″ x 24″ is not near enough to clean up a 4′ x 5′ Jackson Pollock fecal tribute on someone’s wall. All I can say is I did my best while managing to avoid pinkeye and every other sh*t born illness. I came out of there looking like I just witnessed a murder and smelling none too fresh, I’m sure. The curtain was placed in the small trashcan which luckily had a plastic bag and tied in a knot. I drive by that house every day now and silently say to myself, “That is one sh*tty house.”


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