The next morning, we woke up early, packed everything but the backyard into the Cadillac. 'Everything' included a bird, wedding gifts, dirty clothes, and childhood Christmas ornaments. We started off on our eight hour voyage south to start our new lives together as Mr. & Mrs. I was dressed to kill in Nike running shorts and a white v-neck. It was a turbulent ride seeing as either one of us had to request a pit stop every thirty minutes. This turned out to be very interesting when having a live pet in the backseat. Several times I just cracked the window and said 'sorry little friend,' but even she didn't seem to have regular bowels.
We had a healthy lunch at Subway (Eat Fresh) and cruised down the highway. I was desperate for ice cream again and we searched for over an hour for a Braums (this is insane for anyone who knows just how many Braums there really are down I-35). I finally spot that pink and blue beacon of truth and we exit just in time.
While standing in line to select a flavor, I took a breath. Seriously, that's all I can say for what I did (besides think about flavors). In one fell swoop, that breath caused some bizarre domino effect that left my drawers soiled in an instant. No way, I thought to myself. That thought quickly dissipated when the warm truth kicked me in the pants. I look over at my new husband in line and I report that I have just 'had an accident.' Bryan, stable and non-reactive in many ways, asks first if I need to change my clothes. What a natural thing to ask. Not, 'are you joking?' or 'you weirdo.' I look back up at him nonchalantly and answer 'yes.' But first, I let him know I would still like to select a flavor. Now he is in disbelief. He says if he ever doubted my love of ice cream, he will not anymore.
I waddle to the car, ravage through my trunk for anything resembling a change of garments, and I head inside to use the facilities. I have to clean myself for a while from my un-American experience and I come out in spandex (the only thing I can find). I am worried that this could happen again, seeing as I have no idea how it happened the first time. Spandex would most certainly be worse, as I've never been more grateful for those elastic inserts in athletic shorts.
When we got to Texas, Bryan went around to the trunk to begin unloading the car. I shrieked at him to let me get to it first. I had, after all, stashed my dirty clothes in the rear. When I went back there, I was very grateful I did not choose to put them in the backseat.
The Mexican stomachache has followed me to this day (that's right, three weeks and counting). And though I have not had another 'incident,' It may be a long time before I revisit that nation.
Mercy. And this concludes my honeymoon!