Women don’t poop, they hold it in and it comes out as drama. – Unknown
You could totally call a Mallery Surprise drama. The horrendous stench of a Mallery Surprise IS dramatic. The act of forever plunging the surprise IS dramatic. The way I play the role of the bad plunger, forcing Michael to be my knight in poopy armor, is uber dramatic! You can call me a sissy pants girl, but I poop like a horse and might have Roto-Rooter.com bookmarked.
What is a Mallery Surprise?
I can’t sit here and say my shit don’t stink, because it does. It is just as foul as the rotting intestines dutch oven Michael gave me last weekend… by accident. (The verdict is still out on that debate.) How was I designed to be a woman, and yet, anything that exits through my pooper clears the house?
Maybe I’m not a woman? I don’t like to cuddle, I’ve had one pedicure in my 25 years of existence, and I’m finally learning how to do my hair and makeup like a big girl. I digress…
Releasing the beast that has been trapped in the cave all night is a lot like driving your car into a wall; nobody wants to plunge that toilet because it is burn your nose hairs pungent. My surprises have the power to make grown men cry. Literally, Michael has woken me up with his morning, “Damn it, Mallery!” One time I thought it went down. Another time I had to go 5 minutes before a conference call and didn’t have time to sit there and plunge for 20 minutes. So what if I forgot about it until Michael found it! Mwaahaahaa!
What is a Michael Surprise?
I might be the grossest girl in the blogosphere. I really wouldn’t be surprised if you stopped following this blog because I made you commit the ultimate party foul, barfing into your wine glass, just to prove my point. (I’ve watched beer bongers do it and it’s GAGarific!)
Let me show you why we will never be able to get divorced.
What the hell, dude! Put your cell phone down when you tinkle and hold it with both hands so this doesn’t happen! How the heck am I supposed to know this is happening when I’m not the one peeing down the front of the toilet? How does he not realize it is pooling all together at the base of the toilet, under the rug?
So you see, we are perfectly balanced with our bathroom habits and repulsive enough that nobody else will take us.
And the poopy princess lived happily ever after with the urine knight. The End
This post is sponsored. All opinions, pictures, and disgusting bodily habits are my own.