I just shat myself.

I just shat myself. It wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. I can feel the disloyalty of my sphincter slowly trickling between my cheeks and into the fabric of my Fruit of the Looms. I can tell it’s not much. It may not even seep through to the seat of my nicest pants. I wish I hadn’t worn my nicest pants. What choice did I have? You dress up for job interviews, don’t you? I try to focus on the questions coming from the woman across the desk from me.
“What does merchandising mean to you, personally?”
I take a breath and try to ignore the tickle of shit trickles still sneaking from the orifice which betrayed me.
“Well, that’s not an easy question.” I hesitantly buy time.