Just as I dragged my sorry behind out of bed Thursday morning I heard someone fumbling with the front door lock. After having a small panic attack because I thought someone was breaking into the house, I realized it was Steve. He walked into the room, he pulled back his white coat and pointed at his pants. They were SOAKING wet. It looked like someone had dumped a bucket of water on his lap.
Apparently, he finished doing his business in the bathroom at work and flushed the toilet. The toilet then decided Steve's deposit was more than it could handle and regurgitated back at him. Yep, the Gammon intestines strike again. Someone really does need to invent a pocket plunger for my digestive system-challenged family.
After the toilet attacked him, Steve ran away (probably swearing at his forebears). He put his white coat on over his scrubs (it comes down almost to his knees) and walked straight out of the hospital and to the car. Luckily, he had time to come home and switch clothes.
Poor guy. (Snicker, snicker.)