I set the alarm earlier than usual so I could get up and go the gym. Michael did his best to rouse me from my sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. I don’t know why I was so tired, but there was no way I was getting up.

An hour later I forced myself out of bed and groggily shuffled downstairs to feed the dog. After he ate, I began my normal morning routine: shower, makeup, hair and poop.

What? You don’t have a usual poop time? Or better yet, girls don’t poop, right? You’re lying.

As someone who has a stomach so sensitive that if I look at food it’s upset, I know that when I have to go, I better take the opportunity while in the comfort and privacy of my own home.

I repeat: comfort and privacy of my own home.

I plopped down on the seat (wait, sorry. Plopped is a bad choice of word. Sat. I sat down on the seat.) and let my mind wander as I looked out the window overlooking our backyard.

I was suddenly snapped back into reality when I noticed a MAN walking in my yard towards the window.

Omigod! I’m pants-less! On the toilet! Pooping!

I bent myself in half getting as close to the floor as I could and listened. I heard the sound of a hose being dragged over icy snow and realized that it was the gas man coming to fill our tank. (Gas man. Appropriate, no?)

When I heard him walk back towards the truck I jumped up and closed the shade. I sat back down and waited, as things were now not going as smoothly as before, and silently cursed the dog for being in a food coma and not barking at the arrival of a man.

I don’t think he saw me. Or if he did see me, he was polite enough not to laugh.

He did leave a 2008 calendar on the deck, so I guess it wasn’t a total loss.