"I woke up to discover my boyfriend and I covered in my own poo."

You know that feeling when you meet someone and you really like each other and then you both get drunk and they stay over and you have sloppy drunken sex and then suddenly there is human poo in your bed and the magic gets a little bit destroyed forever?

We’ve all been there, right?

Your silence has been noted.

Well it happened to me and here is my grubby tale of regret.

So, I met a very gorgeous man. He was hot, lovely, relaxed, fun and great in bed.

And as a serial singleton, I was considering locking him in my cupboard under the stairs for exclusive, personal use, which is big for me.

So we went out for dinner and we drank our body weight in Chardonnay because Chardonnay is back people and we like to be on trend.

We ate some delicious food I can’t remember where and I whispered in his ear in the Uber home that he should, ahem, f*ck me in the ass when we got home.

He thought that was a sensational idea.

Because I was a little sauced I forgot my pre-anal sex ritual of cleaning out my bum with a squeezy type drink bottle and warm water. But, no biggie, I would just buy a Pump water on the way home, drink the contents, then get home and put some loud music on, smuggle the bottle into the bathroom, get the job done, and then get the job done, if you catch my drift.

The problem was, my new, let’s call him MY BOYFRIEND, rushed past me and to the bathroom and shut the door saying he had to have a shower before he was gonna F*CK ME IN THE ASS wink wink wink.

Damn it.

Not being one to run from a challenge, I decided that his shower would take approximately 5 minute and therefore I had 5 minutes to think of a solution. I guess all the wine clouded my judgement because I believed I could do the job in the kitchen. I filled up my pump water bottle, squirted it up my butt and then realised I had nowhere to expel it. The sink WOULD NOT DO.

Shit.

Literally.

I gingerly crept out into my tiny courtyard, which backed onto the shower and very quietly, in the dark, expelled whatever demons lay in my colon.

I could see his lovely face through the window and I was terrified he would turn 37 degrees to the right to look out the window and clock me crouching in the dark like a maniac doing god knows what. But, small mercies, he did not.

I ran back into the bedroom and posed seductively on the bed.

We began to have extremely sexy sex. For two minutes. Until we both fell into a deep, boozy sleep. No backdoor action at all. All that effort was for nada.

In the morning, I woke up underneath him with what felt like a booze soaked dirty sock in my mouth and we had a giggle about the night before. He went out to the courtyard to have a cigarette. He likes to pace when he smokes.

I think you know where this is going.

I had just drifted off the sleep again when I heard him get back into bed. Then I felt something wet and squelchy on my leg.

That’s weird, I thought.

Then I smelt something a bit pooey.

In my mind I blamed him. Dude, if you’re gonna let one go, cut it off.

But then the smell got stronger and I peeled back the doona and my leg was covered in shit.

Oh god, I thought, did I shart in the night?

Then I saw leaves in the bed too. All through the bed. It was carnage. Leaves and shit everywhere.

He started squealing and I started squealing. We were shocked, dismayed, revolted and then….

I remembered.

I pooped in my backyard.

And he stepped in it and walked it through the house and then smeared it all through the bed. It was amazing how much crap had unwittingly clung to his foot.

It was a pretty terrible few minutes while I frantically tried to think of some sort of alibi with my wine addled mind.

“Could it have been a dog?” I suggested?

“A dog can’t get in your yard!” He exclaimed, cowering against the far wall. He was absolutely correct.

“A cat?” I offered, pretending to be as perplexed as him as I pushed the pooey sheets off me.

“That is not cat poo!” He yelled.

“… a possum?” I whispered, out of ideas.

He thought, nodded, “that must be it!”

Thank you baby Jesus, he bought it.

I don’t know why, but he did.

He was also very apologetic, which I felt bad about but also had to go along with a bit.

We stripped the bed, had a very hot shower, changed the sheets and although he offered, I insisted on washing the contaminated ones because I’m a nice person who definitely didn’t shit in the backyard.

I’m sure don’t have to tell you, this incident really killed the mood.

But we are still together and one day I’m sure I will confess, but for now it’s just ‘remember that time we got possum shit in the bed hahahaha, what are the chances”, etc.

I learn a valuable lesson that fateful day – never get drunk and poo in your own backyard. It sounds like a proverb, but really, it’s just good advice.