but what good is it having an email address if you don’t at least open the mail? I was pleased to see multiple requests to retell my salmon fishing trip to Canada story so right here, as a preface story for the emotion confusion, is my tale.
From my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!…
C
A lot of awesome emotions under “C” and I moved the location to Canada, one of my favorite places to visit. On one particular salmon fishing trip there, my father, sister and I were enjoying a great day of drinking. Not so much on the fishing part of the fishing trip. After a case or so of Labatt’s Blue and a liter of Dr. McGillicuddy’s 100-proof Peach Schnapps, we were ready to start drinking some more. At least that was the plan.
This is where the story becomes a little fuzzy.
I woke up at about 2am (I think) and the first thing I noticed was my eyes were wide open and I could not see anything. Only darkness. Was I blind? I turned my baseball cap around and my sight was miraculously restored. The next thing assaulting my senses was the horrendous smell of shit. As I propped my throbbing head up on one elbow, I reached back to rub my aching spine which was partially resting on a bed of pine cones. As I rubbed, my fingers found the slimy stench beginning on the top of my pants. Oh my God, I crapped myself!
This was not good.
Pan to me pounding on my sister’s cabin. Her lover actually got up and helped me to the washroom cabin.
“I’m a senior citizen, I shat myself,” I shouted as she sprayed me off with a hose. After cleaning me off, she threw me a towel and I kept yelling my thanks as she returned to her cabin.
I toweled off, and as I peeled off my soaked but clean clothes, I saw that there was no evidence whatsoever of any excrement inside my pants.
I have never been so proud to have gotten blind-drunk and fallen asleep in a big pile of bearshit in my entire life.
This next story is an example of the emotion confusion.
Stay well.
