Let me start by saying that I am not proud of this story. It is from the distant past (not distant enough)… a past in which I hadn’t yet realized that I didn’t have to be in a relationship to get laid.
So I was in a relationship with a crazy person… He meant well, but he had done too many hallucinogenic drugs (like WAY too many).
I’m not being a bitch… and while I’m not a doctor, he was clearly touched. He would have fleeting episodes where he believed he was Jason Bourne (presumably because he had never read any other book series). While his Matt Damon episodes would come and go, he always believed that the government was watching him.
The only defense I have for dating him is that he had the largest dick I had ever seen on a white guy. It was an honest 8 1/4 inches and got rock hard.
Now for the embarrassing part (as though dating a burned-out lunatic is not humiliating at all)…
Let’s call him Bane (not because he was ripped like Tom Hardy in Batman, but because it is close to his actual name… and he was the bane of my existence for a few months).
So Bane would stay at my apartment sometimes, but would always be showered and gone before I awoke because he had very early college classes.
On one particular morning, I got up groggily and stumbled into my bathroom to turn the shower on (as usual). However, that morning, I noticed something in the bathtub/shower. It was small (maybe marble-sized) and brown. I reached down to pick it up.
The moment I touched it, I knew. I just knew…
To confirm, I smelled it (worst idea I’ve ever had). Yes, it was definitely human feces!
You might think that this would be the most disturbing part of this story… but (sadly) no.
I scrubbed my bathtub and hands with chemicals that shouldn’t have touched my skin.
Then I sent him a text I thought I would never have to send to someone I was dating:
Me: “Did you poop in my bathtub?”
Bane: “Why? What happened?”
Me: “One of us pooped in my bathtub, and it wasn’t me.”
Bane: “It was an accident.”
I hated him (both in general and at that moment).
Me: “Ok. But why didn’t you clean it up?”
Bane: “I thought I did.”
Me: “With what? All my cleansers were still in the back of the cabinet.”
Bane: “I tried to mash it down the drain with my foot.”
There are no words. None.
I would love to be able to end this story with, “And so I broke up with him.” Unfortunately, I didn’t.
In fact, I kept dating him (i.e. being his keeper) until I hated him so much that I (albeit briefly) considered running him over with my car.
For the record, I’m not proud of that either.