Persistant Bowel Movements

If the title disturbes you in any way, I beg of you not to read further.

I must preface this tale by saying that I am somewhat of a "closet pooper." I will ONLY poop in my own house, on my own toilet, in my own time. I won't really even discuss poop or the need to poop very much, I just feel it's disgusting. However, there comes a time in every woman's life when decorum and class are not an option.
We took Ashlyn out on the lake a couple of weekends ago to let her swim. After we got back Allen and I decided we wanted to go for a little while without her to swim and intertube, etc. So we loaded up in the boat with my cousin Tiffany and her husband Jerry. We got to one of our swimming coves and were having a great time. I was sunning on the 'tube - getting attacked by giant horseflies and man-eating turtles and decided that we should go elsewhere to swim. As I was boarding the boat it hit me.. I had to poop. I REALLY had to poop. I make this statement outloud (much to everyone's shock) and it becomes a great source of laughter for Allen. Being the accomodating husband that he is, Allen offers to drive us back to the dock so I can get back to camp and handle this matter comfortably. I entertain the thought but decide that the urge has passed, and we should just continue swimming. We find another cove and right as we stop my insides begin to scream and I realize this is serious. Allen again offers to whisk me off to a more appropriate locale, only this time I decline because it becomes swimmingly (ha - nice play on words..) apparent that I have no time. It is coming - it is coming now, and I will either defecate in the boat or in the water. Obviously the water is the best choice for all involved and I jump in. My first attempt was unsuccessful - we'll chalk that up to stage fright. Allen again chimes in and gives me his best "crapping in the lake" advice. This includes informing me of the best position to keep from swimming in the poop once it is out - and showing me the best handle in case I need to help this whole mess along. I grab the handle, assume the position and in one small push - the A-bomb. There it is. I've pooped. And it's not a dainty little lady-poop. It's not even a larger - yet compacted man poop. It is full out warfare that has come from me and it is everywhere. Thanks to Allen's tips (gosh, that guy is handy) I manage to escape without touching any of it. My poor cousin Tiffany, however happened to be on the tube and inevitably floated right over the top of the evidence. It was mortifying. I pooped. In the lake. With other humans around. They saw me do it. They saw the actual poop. Can life get ANY worse than this? I can honestly say I have NEVER seen Allen laugh so hard in the 8 years we've been together - and for the rest of the weekend the story was told and retold. Probably will be retold for the rest of my life, one of the most glorious moments in the life of Kayla.