Story time:
This summer me and my friend Kylie drove our little selves on down to San Diego, California (yes, it was the longest trip ever and yes, Bubba Sparxx began to sound good after 27 hours in the car) to move her in for college. Our friend Morgan met us there (she was conveniently sick the day of our driving departure and flew down 27 hours later), and we had a gay ol’ time eating Pinkberry, watching girl-movies, and going to the beach despite our obvious pooches.
But I missed my sig-o!
So I called him.
Oh, we had a great chat. We began to chat about politics (Sarah Palin seriously looks like his aunt!), the Kardashian family, and other controversial topics.
Then! Then nature called, and it called hard. It was as if my body had a really annoying ring tone that I had to answer to, in fear that everyone else in Nordstrom’s would hear my Katy Perry ringtone…again.
I could feel that I was about to drop a deuce, and needed to IMMEDIATELY! So, I played pickle in my mind about whether I should a. Stop the convo, b. Ignore my body or c. take action AND talk. I wondered if I could pull it off.
My mind answered: YES!
So, I began shmooing. And talking. Simultaneously. At first it was fine, I even scoffed to myself about my multitasking abilities–looking at myself in my white top and white velour sweatpants, ponytail awry thinking about the humor of the whole situation. It’s like I was playing a trick on him. Ha!
Then it got loud. Very loud. Very out of hand.
So he asked: ‘Brooke, are you going to the bathroom? I honestly don’t care but…you should tell me.’
And I answered: ‘No! Ohmigawd, I HATTEEE when people do stuff like that. It’s disgusting…like you are on the phone with the person and they have the audacity to POOP! Gross! I would NEVER do that to you.’
…and I ranted like that for a solid 3 minutes.
Then, I mindlessly flushed the toilet.
Thus confirming I had been pooping, loudly, and talking.
He laughed for a solid…ever.
I died for a solid..ever.
We concluded that it was a good thing that I was so relaxed talking to him that I could let ‘er fly.
…we’ve commonly been compared to the Kennedy’s (because we’re so classy).
Or something?



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