Mr. Shit Pants
I had a boyfriend once who asked me to marry him. His looks and his intellectual curiosity could not compensate for the creeping insults disguised
as wit or the ever increasing bouts of inebriation.
By the time “the incident” occurred I was ready to be done.
He became known as
We’d been dating a year when he showed up at my flat at 1 am in the morning palatik drunk. He stumbled into my bedroom and I told him “if you think I’m going to sleep with you you MUST be bloody well joking”. What a waste of breath, he was passed out already, so I went and slept on the couch in the front room.5am, he pokes his head around the door and asks me for a bucket. “a bucket?” “yes, a bucket “ he says. “what the hell do you need a bucket for”, I ask. “are you going to be sick?” “no” he says. “I, err, well I kind of had an accident?” I am thinking what the hell kind of an accident and then he tells me he sneezed and he well, err shit himself. OH MY GOD! I didn’t have a bathroom. I rented two rooms on the bottom floor of an old Victorian house and we shared a communal bathroom upstairs. I was going to have to get dressed and go find a bloody bucket and fill it with warm water. And to make matters worse he asks me if I could wash his clothes and meanwhile he will put the bedding in the bucket to soak. I guess he was thinking I could wash the sheets later.
That did it. I was out of there. I gave him the bucket and left.