Have you ever sat in a cold car with heated seats and wondered if you had just shit your pants?
I'm asking because it happened to me today.
My car was having "issues" and I needed to replace the flasher relay under the dashboard. No problem, really. But I wasn't going to drive it to work in that condition because I really do try to avoid accidents and cops.
A coworker named Thomas agreed to give me a ride home. He went outside, started his little car, and I got in the passenger's seat. The leather seats were cold but I felt a growing warmth spread from under my ass.
So let's review. It's a very small car packed with five people and I'm terrified I've just crapped my pants in a fit of incontinence. I wasn't worried about my beige pants so much as the people I was with having to be in a car with somebody that just fouled their drawers like a little kid.
This is where my mind began to race. How does one tell a person they just shit themselves while sitting in their car? It's a rude thing to say to somebody. First, Thomas was kind enough to give me a ride. He didn't have to. He could have just said, "I can't, I'm full." But he didn't. Instead he had the other folks in back squeeze together and give me the front seat. And nothing is worse than a fat guy dropping a runny pile of heiny gel in your car in the first mile of a 20-mile trek.
But I wasn't feeling a squishy lump or any sort of object, so I figured I must have broken a fierce wind, and since it was quiet nobody would know unless it smelled. But it was so warm under my butt I figured it would have been a deadly cloud of mustard gas or a juicy lucy. In my mind, I went over the best way to break the news of this chemical attack hadouken to Thomas and my fellow passengers.
"Hey guys, I had one break out of me without warning and you'll want to roll down the windows. I think this one's got some meat on it."
"I don't know what I ate but we're all gonna find out in a second."
"I know it's winter time but you're gonna want to roll down the windows instead of smelling what just came out of my ass."
"Sorry guys, whatever crawled up my ass and died is off-gassing and I'm pretty sure I've solved the winter heating bills."
"Please forgive my ass for its trespasses as it forgives those who have sinned against it."
"Bonzi!"
Either way, I had to come up with something quick, because the heat was growing hotter and spreading all around my backside.
But then a thought occurred to me.
"Thomas," I asked. "Are your seats heated?"
"Yeah," he said. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Oh thank God! I thought I'd shit myself."
Please remember, folks. If you have heated seats, you have an obligation to tell your passengers about this, because I know I'm not the only one who wonders about these things.
I'm asking because it happened to me today.
My car was having "issues" and I needed to replace the flasher relay under the dashboard. No problem, really. But I wasn't going to drive it to work in that condition because I really do try to avoid accidents and cops.
A coworker named Thomas agreed to give me a ride home. He went outside, started his little car, and I got in the passenger's seat. The leather seats were cold but I felt a growing warmth spread from under my ass.
So let's review. It's a very small car packed with five people and I'm terrified I've just crapped my pants in a fit of incontinence. I wasn't worried about my beige pants so much as the people I was with having to be in a car with somebody that just fouled their drawers like a little kid.
This is where my mind began to race. How does one tell a person they just shit themselves while sitting in their car? It's a rude thing to say to somebody. First, Thomas was kind enough to give me a ride. He didn't have to. He could have just said, "I can't, I'm full." But he didn't. Instead he had the other folks in back squeeze together and give me the front seat. And nothing is worse than a fat guy dropping a runny pile of heiny gel in your car in the first mile of a 20-mile trek.
But I wasn't feeling a squishy lump or any sort of object, so I figured I must have broken a fierce wind, and since it was quiet nobody would know unless it smelled. But it was so warm under my butt I figured it would have been a deadly cloud of mustard gas or a juicy lucy. In my mind, I went over the best way to break the news of this chemical attack hadouken to Thomas and my fellow passengers.
"Hey guys, I had one break out of me without warning and you'll want to roll down the windows. I think this one's got some meat on it."
OR
"I don't know what I ate but we're all gonna find out in a second."
OR
"I know it's winter time but you're gonna want to roll down the windows instead of smelling what just came out of my ass."
OR
"Sorry guys, whatever crawled up my ass and died is off-gassing and I'm pretty sure I've solved the winter heating bills."
OR
"Please forgive my ass for its trespasses as it forgives those who have sinned against it."
OR
"Bonzi!"
Either way, I had to come up with something quick, because the heat was growing hotter and spreading all around my backside.
But then a thought occurred to me.
"Thomas," I asked. "Are your seats heated?"
"Yeah," he said. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Oh thank God! I thought I'd shit myself."
Please remember, folks. If you have heated seats, you have an obligation to tell your passengers about this, because I know I'm not the only one who wonders about these things.
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