The Danger of Tide Pods


We’ve all heard stories about the danger of Tide Pods. They can look like candy, they have bright colors, they are SO pretty! I had a hands on experience with a toddler eating one last year. Scared the shit out of me. That story had a happy ending and the toddler was safe. I should have stopped using them, but I didn’t. Now, I have my own, extremely personal Tide Pods story to tell.

My day started like any other. I am an advertising representative for my local newspaper. I dress “business casual” every day. I’m a very busy person, and I hate mornings. I don’t function well in the mornings at all. I am sort of like a robot on auto pilot. I actually set all my clothes out the night before because if I don’t, I’ll stand in front of my closet at 6:30 am for half an hour going “oh fuck, what should I wear”.

So anyway, I am a creature of extreme auto pilot habit. I do the exact same things in the exact same order over morning. Here’s my morning. Every morning.

1. Swear at alarm
2. Stumble to bathroom. (Stub toe at least once on the way in the dark.)
3. Pee
4. Shower
5. Put makeup on
6. Blow Dry hair
7. Get dressed
8. Let dogs out
9. Drink coffee
10. Go to work

This is my routine. Every. Single. Day. It doesn’t vary often. And when it does, look the fuck out because I don’t like my routine being upset. It sets my whole day off wrong. That and I have it down to such a science that if one thing goes wrong, I’ll be strutting into work late. And I hate being late.

One day a couple weeks ago, I am on step 7.5. Note, that is basically walking down the hall between steps 7 & 8, when suddenly, “that feeling” ensues. You know the one. The “what the fuck did I eat last night, wow, holy shit, sauerkraut and it’s here for revenge and I have about 2 seconds to get to the toilet before I shit on the rug” feeling. You know, THAT FEELING.

So, I run back into the bathroom, hitting the toilet in the nick of time before I crap myself and then finish my “business” and then quickly clean up, and race back down the hall to get step 8 out of his kennel. I am already late for work now thanks to the sauerkraut from the night before, and I am already pissed off. I briefly run my hands over my backside to smooth my skirt out. You know, women do this maneuver all the time to make sure their skirt/shirt are laying nicely.


My right hand sweeps over my ass cheek briefly, and there is a large lump, and it feels soft, and something starts dripping down my leg. That’s right. shit dripping down my fucking leg. Dammit. Double dammit. How does this fucking shit happen to me!

I am horrified at this point because, A.) I am already late. B.) I am convinced in my morning un-caffeinated brain that somehow some poop landed in my undies and I just squished it and it’s now running down my leg. FUCK!!!!!!!!

I run back to the bathroom, and I start gagging at the thought that I have squishy poop running down my leg. I’m so disgusted by the prospect that I start retching and next thing I know, I’m throwing up at my own disgusting predicament. I retch until there’s nothing left and my stomach is just nervous twitchy hitching. UGH. So now I am covered in poop and I smell like vomit.

Time to go back to step 4, which is shower. Fuck, this is going to be so hard to explain to my new boss. “Yeah, Phil, so I shit myself, and now I am late. Sorry, my bad. ” He’s going to think I am insane. Or gross. Either way, fuck me, could this Monday start ANY worse?

I hop into the shower and start peeling my skirt off slowly to avoid spreading poop all over any more than it already is. My face is scrunched up in that “oh my gosh, this is going to smell so bad face” when it suddenly hits me.

Or should I say DOESN’T hit me. Huh? I don’t smell like poop. How odd. I still smell fresh and clean. I smell, might I say, extra spring fresh? Like maybe even Tide with a hint of Downy fresh? And that’s when I find it. Clinging for dear life to the inside right butt cheek of my panties. Just sitting there like it owns the place. A fucking undissolved Tide pod. The fucker is mocking me. If that little Tide pod could laugh, it would. There is in fact NOT diarrhea running down my leg, but instead, a stream of orange Tide goo….

And then I get the giggles. How AM I going to explain this to my boss? UGH. My life. Things like this don’t happen to cute perky twentysomethings. They happen to over worked, over stressed, not morning almost fifty peoples like me. Tick tock mother fucking clock.


Dangerous Tide Pod!

Somehow, this little guy not only missed getting dissolved in the washing machine, but then somehow survived through the dryer and into my drawer. So yeah, Tide pods? Very dangerous. Keep away from middle aged women for sure.

Maybe I need to add coffee somewhere into my morning routine a little earlier?

Until the next stupid thing I do….

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