Never take a chance on a fart.
I was on a second date. We were driving back from dinner, and I felt my stomach cramp up. I pled for him to pull over on the interstate. He questioned if I was OK, but I couldn’t even answer because I was puckering my butt cheeks so tightly. Lo and behold, I shit my pants. Diarrhea came up to my back, above my jeans. It was awful. But that man is now my husband.
I was playing a zombie in an independent movie. I wasn’t feeling well, and the small townhouse we were filming in was full of 30 people, so I got in my car to find a bathroom. I finally found a coffee shop, but it was too late: I already started pooping in my pants. I ran into the shop, screaming for the bathroom. The poor, old man at the counter was speechless and pointed to the back. When I got into the bathroom I realized I was still in full zombie makeup and probably almost gave the old man a heart attack.