Shit
It’s never a good day when it starts by shitting my pants. There’s never much warning, and not enough muscle to hold it. I must open, get through, and close one child gate, then another. Then, with two hands on the single hand rail, slowly, and so carefully, lift one foot, then the other, up the stairs. The bathroom: as far away as Mecca. I don’t make it in time. I shit my pants on the stairs. This is becoming a common occurrence.