I had a very crappy weekend.
But before I get into the horrific details, let me first recap the events that led me to my crappy circumstances.
We drove down to Thibodaux for our friends' Jennifer and Michael's wedding. The cathedral was beautiful, the music was amazing, and the priest sang the homily. That part of the night was great.
The reception was at the Madewood Plantation in Napoleonville, and it was extra-spectacular. We took a self-guided tour around the plantation while waiting for the bride and groom to arrive, and then we wisely made friends with the bartenders out on the lawn. I also convinced some of the other guests that I was a member of the bride's extended family so that I could cut in line for food.
Betty and I made our way out to the dance floor and boogied for a few songs, when all of a sudden it happened:
My stomach rumbled.
I threw my cup and plate into Betty's lap and sprinted through the crowd towards the plantation. Once inside I had to make a vital decision: use the restroom on the downstairs floor or run up the stairs to the more out-of-the-way but probably more private upstairs restroom.
I bounded up the stairs four at a time and burst through the restroom door. It was a huge room with a toilet, a mirror and a chair. There was only one problem: there wasn't a lock on the door.
The reception was packed, and I just knew that someone would walk in on me, so while I frantically tried to get my pants off I looked around the room to see what I could use to barricade the door. I took the chair and put it under the doorknob, then I threw a bunch of random stuff from a shelf onto the ground in front of the door.
I sat down on the pot just in time, otherwise we probably would have had to burn the Madewood to the ground in order to purify the restroom's hardwood floors.
Exhausted, sweating and now cleansed, I went to leave the restroom when, wouldn't you know it, someone walked in. Lucky for me my business was done. Unlucky for that person, they had to deal with the aftermath.
So it goes.
Later on in the night I would make six other stops to the same restroom. By my fourth trip I didn't bother to barricade the door because I felt too sick to do anything other than sit down, and by the last trip I barely managed to close the door before my body betrayed me.
The drive home from Thibodaux was also fraught with peril. There's nothing between Thibodaux and Prairieville except for one or two small towns, and even those are a good 20 miles away from any inhabitable location. There were no gas stations, no McDonald's, and most importantly, no restrooms.
The fact that I'm blogging can only mean that I made it home in one piece. But it doesn't mean that all is well in Tanory Land. Quite the opposite, in fact. Let's just say that it's taken me close to an hour to write this blog because I've had to run back and forth to the restroom.
All these trips to the bathroom have made this weekend very crappy... very crappy indeed!
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