Plunging to new depths

With apologies to those with more refined tastes.

But, come on. Who among us cannot relate to this story?

In the annals of Most Embarrassing Moments, this one takes the urinal cake. I shall change the names to protect the innocent, but it's 100% true.

Eliza was on her way to do some shopping in downtown Toronto with her two oldest friends, A. and C. She has known these two since childhood, so they're like family. They parked at A.'s office building, and as they walked out of the garage, Eliza realized she needed to heed the call of nature, and it wouldn't be a quick visit either. This sent her into a minor tizzy. You see, Eliza has a phobia about using public toilets. The official name is parcopresis, the ugly twin sister of Bashful Bladder, and defined as "fear of defecation when other people are around or perceived to be around." Seeing as this was a Saturday, Eliza had a solution. She asked to use A.'s office toilet where she could do her business undisturbed.

A. and C. waited for her in the office, while Eliza used the bathroom. Now, even though Eliza had a phobia about going in a public toilet, she had absolutely no qualms about talking about it. Sitting there without a magazine or crossword to occupy her, Eliza, on a silly whim, decided to text A. on her cell phone.

"I'm going poo." Then she hit send.

You know when you're sending an email or message, there's that clarity that comes a split-second after you've pressed send when you realize your brain was actually operating on auto-pilot, and your finger was its halfwit slave? Eliza, with a sickening lurch in her gut, knew she hadn't chosen anyone from her phone list, which meant the text message went to the last person to whom she had spoken.

In Eliza's case, that lucky recipient was her building contractor. He was overseeing Eliza's major home renovation, and was currently number one on her speed dial as there were frequent calls back and forth to confirm details. Mortified, and still stuck on the toilet, she panicked and tried to think of ways to rectify this situation.

Maybe he'll ignore it. Maybe, oh please oh please, maybe he won't get it at all.

Within seconds, there was a reply. "Who is this?"

Now, Eliza could have dropped it right then and there. She could have feigned innocence, or ignorance, or even blamed it on some kid fooling around with her cell phone. But no, not our girl.

She wigged out again, and texted the first thing that came into her head.

"Never mind."

The contractor, if he ever did figure out who it was, never let on. What's the lesson here?

Friends don't let friends poo and text.