Spicy Squid

This story isn't about my husband being drunk. I'm going to tell it any way.  It's just funny.

I have an unhealthy obsession with the thai restaurant down the road.  It's expensive but I can't help myself. It is just SO good. I dream about having unlimited supplies of tom yum goong soup and piles of green papaya salad.  On occasion the cooks get too zealous with the spices.  I love spicy foods, but the medium spicy can be too much.  I have experienced spicy butthole the day after eating this fiery concoction. It's a deep, horrible burn.  Depending on the person, it can go right through your system in a matter of hours. I have unwittingly caused a few of my friends an evening of discomfort. I should have warned them.

One evening I picked up take out for me and my husband.  He wanted the spicy squid, medium spicy. I had the phat thai. A few hours later he realized combining "spicy" and "squid" was a grave error in judgment.  He was in the bathroom many times that night.  Spicy butthole was his curse.

The next night we set off on our evening run. My husband had nearly forgotten about the consequences of spicy squid.  About 2 miles into our run he turned to look at me and said "umm, so I think I should head back. My insides are starting to roll again."  We started back toward the house, cutting our run short by 20 minutes. 

A few minutes later my husband told me "I'm gonna have to hurry." He started going faster.  Pretty soon I couldn't keep up with him any more. I was all out sprinting and he was still picking up speed.

"Sorry babe, I just... gotta GO" he yelled back as he left me in the dust.

I jogged slowly back to the apartment as I watched him leave me behind. When I finally walked through the apartment door, he was in the bathroom with the fan running.

The door was shut, but the apartment still smelled foul.  It was seeping up from under the door. His shower started going.

 I decided that I needed to wash the sweat off my body. I got in my bathroom and showered off.  When I left and walked by his bathroom door, I noticed shorts and underwear hanging from the shower.

"So what happened?", I asked. 

"Yeah so,  I didn't make it. I had to poop behind the bushes two houses over. Then, I had to go the rest of the way back to the apartment, covered in poop." He proceeded to tell me about how it had gotten all over his shorts, and down his legs by the time he got home. "I'm just so glad I could come in the back screen door instead of the front door and that it was night." 

I could just imagine if it had been day.  The cops would have brought my husband home for pooping in public.  I just laughed when I thought about the back door being locked. If the back door had been locked, the neighbors seen him with shit all over his clothing and body.  That would have been fantastic.