Investing in the future

At this point in my life, I'm embarrassed to say (and yet not too embarrassed to reveal) that I no longer know how many times I've soiled my pants.  These incidents have become too numerous to count.

It started in 1991 when I was a girl of 15 shitting my pants on Easter.  I think it was the au gratin potatoes that did it, but who cares?  The only soundtrack to this day in history was the uproarious laughter of my cousins.  This streak (pun intended) continues to this very day wherein I shit my pants not 14 feet from the toilet in my own house (yes, Scott got out the measuring tape to get exact metrics on this).

The details, while hilarious, are not really appropriate for a public forum.  Suffice it to say that no one was more surprised that I was shitting my pants than yours truly.  Except maybe Scott, who was only a few feet away.  When I realized what happened, I turned around, mortified, to see old Count Scottula gazing at me with a mixture of shock and awe.  And by awe I mean horror.

Usually these kinds of incidents are preceded by a frantic retreat to our home.  A scurrying, if you will.  A race against time.  Not this time.  I was just mild-manneredly minding my own business, enjoying a game of online Scrabble, without the vaguest of inklings of what was to come when, KAPOW.

Friends, I am going to purchase stock in Depends forthwith.  For the future.  I may as well make money on this malady.