Eclair, anyone?

The other night I was invited to a pot-luck dinner party. I'm pretty shy, so I was a little nervous about going because, since Mike had to work, the only person I'd know at the party would be the hostess. When I arrived, I was greeted by a sign on her front door which read: "Let Yourself In!", so I did. I found all the party guests in the kitchen, gripping their bellies in laughter, captivated by a story being told by a pretty red-head. 

"... and I guess they were pretty drunk or whatever," she was saying, "and he missed, and she was all, 'GO AHEAD, I LIKE IT IN MY BUTT'!"

People were laughing so hard they had tears streaming down their faces.

"Wait! It gets better!" Her cheeks were pink with excitement. "Because then, they were totally going at it, and suddenly, SHE POOPS ALL OVER HIM!" That's when she noticed me hovering by the door, a tray of chocolate eclairs in my arms. 

"Oh my goodness, honey! I am so sorry. You must think I'm awful for telling such a story!" She looked genuinely embarrassed.

"Actually," I grinned, "I think I just fell in love with you."