Montezuma’s Revenge

16 04 2011

One night aboard the ship, I woke up with the sensation of something damp on my back. I reached back and felt a “glop” of something. I wasn’t sure what it was. Had I left my nicotine patch on? Surely that must be it, as I’ve awoken to find myself sweating around them a few times before. I flung whatever the offending item was off of myself, and tossed and turned for a moment before getting up to pee. As I stood there, in the miniscule “head” of our stateroom, I caught my own reflection out of the corner of my eye.

“What the hell??” I thought as I turned and got a better look at the thick, brown, soupy muck that was spattered up my back. It was warm and sticky.  I grabbed a wet washcloth and scrubbed. It didn’t want to come off, but I cleaned myself up best as I could in my groggy state, then crept back into the stateroom.

“Oh no!” the realization hit me…it was probably all over the sheets. I’d have to turn on the light to see, and risk waking Darling. I flipped on the lamp, and folded back the covers, scared of what I might find. It was everywhere. Even the pillows hadn’t been spared the splatter. I gasped and before I could catch  myself shouted “Oh, hell!”

Darling awoke, and with a look of utter horror, shouted “What in hell is that???”

“It’s chocolate!” I said. One of the chocolate candies  the steward left on our pillows had wound up in bed with us–specifically under my ass, where it melted into a gelatinous glob that wound up looking very much like I might have “Poughkeepsied” all over the damn bed.

The next morning, Darling said I simply had to explain what happened to the steward, lest the poor fella think Montezuma’s revenge had befallen our room. So as we headed for breakfast, I tracked down the steward.

“We’re going to need new sheets this morning.” I explained. My face reddened with the realization that there is really no reason for “needing” new sheets that isn’t embarassing. I stammered, trying to recover the situation…

“You see, we got chocolate all  over them.”

Ahhh…” he lifted his eyebrow in a knowing way, “not to worry! I’ll take care of it for you.”

“It’s just that one of the mints from the pillow ended up in bed with us…” I was beginning to think I should have just let him believe one of us had shit the bed as I desperately tried to make the situation less awkward.

His sly grin indicated he wasn’t believing the innocent truth. “No worries, sir! Go, enjoy yourselves!”

“Um, yes, well…thank you…” I hurried off down the hall.




10 responses

16 04 2011

I was thinking, “There is NO WAY he would post pictures of his poopy sheets!” I was right.

I’m so glad you cleared things up so nicely with the steward.

16 04 2011
The Vinyl Villager

LOL! I should have just balled the sheets up and let him think whatever he wanted. Sadly, it was the SECOND most embarassing moment of the week. Im still trying to decide if I should blog about the first.

16 04 2011
The Incredible Woody

LMAO! And of course, you should blog about the first!!!!

17 04 2011

Yes, we’ve got to hear about the most embarrassing!

17 04 2011

LMAO! I was thinking the same as Jason, there is no way you would photograph poopy sheets, LOL! Thanks for the laugh, I really needed it!

17 04 2011
The Vinyl Villager

Had it truly been poopy sheets, I likely would have flung myself overboard in embarassment! LOL. Alright, you guys twisted my arm. Ill write about the other one shortly.

17 04 2011

HAHAHA… ME was laughing so hard she was crying, so I read it myself. So funny.

17 04 2011

I was thinking what everyone else was. #1. He did NOT post photo’s of shit sheets, and later #2, I want to hear embarrising moment #1.

18 04 2011
noe noe girl

At least chocolate has a nice smell to it!

18 04 2011
The Vinyl Villager

I cant promise that I would NEVER post a pic of shitty sheets. But I certainly would not post it if I were responsible for it. LOL!

Tim, good to see you! Always nice to get a comment from a lurker. 🙂

Per popular request, I have posted the story of how I chased a bottle of lube across the Subway.

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