Sometimes life only figuratively stinks.

I have a love/hate relationship with karma.

On one hand, I am all about it rearing it's ugly fist when this old lady took the last Expectant Mother parking spot in front of Babies R Us the other day, and I was all, what the crap, you are old, not pregnant! Karma, you better go after this selfish bastard. But then Karma is all, listen, I have my own shit going on right now that is more pressing than making an old lady, who is 90 with a walker btw, slip on some ice for making you waddle 20 more feet to the door.

Even though, it was so totally farther than 20 more feet, and it was super cold that day, and I am carrying a fragile human life around, all that lady was carrying was a walker and a hip that probably wasn't even originally hers, anyways.

Times like that, karma is a bitch.

But, sometimes, sometimes, the universe throws you a bone, and evens the karmic keel on the people in your life who have been a little douchey to you in the past.

Like my mother in law, Janet. I can best describe my life with Janet as a whole lot of me not quite measuring up, panic attacks, sweaty palms, trying to impress, and then failing miserably.

It happens.

Not everyone has to love everyone else, right? Some of the best comedic stories are based on awkward in-law relationships, Everybody Loves Raymond, Dharma and Greg, Meet the Parents. Comedy gold.

So, when my in-laws come for a visit, like they did yesterday, my life gets a touch anxious. Lots of cleaning, shoving shit in the closets, and looking for long lost diapers. Heck, I even cleaned my carpet. I was in it to win it.

So, it was for that reason, I was sooooo thankful that when we all arrived to our house after a lunch out, that my mother in law was up in the bathroom when my father in law interrupted my husband and I gossiping in the kitchen, to announce our dog had had an accident of epic proportions on our living room.

Henry. What the fuck, man. I let you out 3 times before lunch, and we were only gone an hour!

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

First of all, I had already spent 3 hours cleaning that carpet, and the hell I was going to bend my swollen ass over in front of everyone, to clean up, what can only be described as, puddles of liquid poop, off the carpet. Luckily, my husband is a champ, and took one for the team as I ushered the dog out the door for the remainder of the visit.

20 minutes later, my Janet comes back downstairs.

Hey, who am I to judge, I can be in the bathroom for an hour, but it's mostly because I hide my magazines and taffy in there, and at least it gave us time to scrub and spray the crap out of our carpet.

But, something was amiss. She wasn't in her normal rich person slacks. She was in...um...my maternity jeans?

What the hell, she was definitely wearing my maternity jeans!

And, she goes on to announce that the most embarrassing thing had happened. She had come in the house and had to run right upstairs to the bathroom, as she had the worst diarrhea she had ever experienced, and it was literally running down her leg.

Ok, so aside from that statement being, well, disgusting, and shockingly odd coming from her expensively lipsticked mouth...it suddenly all came together in my head.

I looked at my husband.

He looked at me.

And, because we are so totally soul mates, he got the telepathic message I sent to him screaming...OH MY FUCKING GOD, YOUR MOTHER POOPED ON OUR FLOOR. SHE POOPED. ON OUR FLOOR.

As God as my witness, the woman took a shit on our carpet, and she has no fucking idea it even happened because she had run upstairs so fast.

So now what? Do I say something, like, Um hey, you may not have realized this, but in your haste to run upstairs, you crapped all over our clean carpet, and it's totally awkward that your son just had to spend 20 minutes scrubbing your poop off our floor, and poor Henry the pug has been yelled at and ostracized out back due to your inability to control your colon after a harmless turkey ruben?

Orrrr....do I be the bigger person, and realize, sure, it can be a little demeaning to have your authority constantly undermined, and your lifestyle routinely passed off as petty and not up to par, but hey...at least I didn't poop on her carpet?

I remember when I was in 3rd grade, and I was invited the birthday party of the boy who lived next door. I was one of the only girls there, and we were all in his basement playing hide and seek, and I was so super nervous because my biggest crush ever, Justin, was hiding behind a pile of boxes with me, so I was all giggly and looked super adorable in my new blue dress and white tights.

I had to pee super bad, but the hell I was going to give up my chance to be thisclose to Justin, plus, getting in and out of my tights was a bitch, so I held it, and after, like, 5 minutes of hiding, we got bored, and The Bangles as my witness, I had my first kiss behind those boxes. It was dreamy.

But, in all my excitement, I completely forgot to concentrate on holding my bladder, and I peed right there. On the floor. Next to Justin.

I didn't even give Justin a chance to scream out in disgust. I ran upstairs, grabbed my coat and ran all the way home crying in wet tights. My legs were chapped for a fucking week.

But, despite it being the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in the history of the Earth, no one ever spoke of it. It's like, it never happened.

Sure, Justin never tried to kiss me again, and the memory of my first kiss is forever tainted by the fact that I pissed on the shoes of the first boy who kissed me, but other than that, I was so grateful to have never been teased about the whole humiliating ordeal.

So, even though she makes me cry and feel horrible about myself, I'm not going to tell her she shit on our carpet.

But, I will always know in my heart that it happened.

Plus...it still totally smells like poop up in here.