Colorado's Been Great, Except for the Night I Shat My Pants and My Wife Puked

Howdy folks! The family is settling in out here. The kids are in school and I have been digging into the local whiskey/bourbon scene (Hint: it's good). We visited Buffalo Bill's grave today on Lookout Mountain. Neat trip. 

Things have been decent, all things considered. My kids are meeting people, the pool in our complex is big and there are abundant outdoor options. We treated the first couple weeks as a quasi-vacation to get the kids in good spirits. We took Rob up on his rafting idea, we went to a Rockies game, we ate at Benihana for one kid's birthday, and we did a couple nice hikes in the area. 

This is Lookout Mountain. No idea how it got that name. This pic is unrelated to the story, but it's pretty!

One idea that did not go so well was fondue. We are fondue experts. We do meat fondue every Xmas Eve (my wife's family tradition). It's great for big crowds - meat skewers, wine, relaxed pace, etc. We joked this spring at how many Melting Pot restaurants we saw around the Denver metro area. My kids had never been and our fondue pot is in a box, so we decided to eat there one night, in the heart of the downtown area of a great neighboring town (Louisville - pronounced Lewis-ville). It's an old coal mining town. 

Also unrelated to the story - this is Buffalo Bill's grave on Lookout Mountain. He left home at age 11 to do cattle drives. Badass.

We go to the restaurant and have to wait for a table. Wife and I order wine as we waited. We chose 8 oz over 5 oz for value. We then got seated and started the decadence. We started with cheddar cheese fondue. After I excused myself to go to the restroom, I came back to see that my wife had another 8 oz wine glass in front of her. She had decided that I would drive us all home and ordered a second for herself. How thoughtful.

Fast forward to the main course - we have a broth bubbling and all kinds of flesh getting pierced and cooked - beef, chicken, pork and fish. The kids love weapons and flesh. I love meat. My wife loves wine. Everybody is winning. 

We were all more than full by the time dessert came, but my kids would stick skewers in my eyes if I said no to chocolate fondue. I decided to treat myself to some dessert. I started dipping marshmallows and strawberries into the chocolate fondue, even though my system wasn't used to something as intense as this meal. I washed dessert down with a second wine glass, a 5-ouncer. My wife decided to order a third 8-ouncer. I knew this was a mistake. She is usually a two-drink lady, unless I am mixing up very weak vodka-sodas for her. But she's an adult who can make her own decisions and deal with the consequences, and when she thinks it's smart to order a third, she's not in the mood for my opinion. So I let it go. 

At this point, the cards were dealt. And let's be clear, there would be consequences across the board. During the meal, we started chatting with the manager, who was a great dude. He told us the history of the building, which was known as a haunted structure. He gave my kids the history of the haunted town. We drank and ate and heard about the history. But mid-story, as the chocolate fondue course started, some gurgling also started. I knew I was going to need some quality time on the throne. Soon. 

We paid and walked to our car. We had a 10-minute ride home. My wife was tipsy and chatty. I was sweaty and tense. We told our kids they would have to walk the dog as soon as we got home. We arrived home and parked and my stomach gurgled with more fervor. We walked up the stairs to our second floor apartment and then gravity started working. Aggressively. We got in the door and I was in a full-fledged panic. At that moment, my kids did what they sometimes do at the worst times - they became helpless. "Where's the leash? Where's his collar? Where are the doodie bags?" 

As they asked, I frantically tried to address things. And I lost. What I thought was a shart was so much more. I sharted once in my life as an adult. It was at work when I was in my 20's. I retreated to a stall, cleaned up, discreetly chucked a pair of boxers in the trash, felt bad for the maintenance guy who would find it, and flew free for a few hours. 

But this was no shart. It was a full-fledged bomb that hit me as I walked into my bathroom. I was four feet and five seconds from salvation. And I failed. And even worse, I still had to remove my shorts and undies after it happened. It was awful. I threw them away. There was clean-up work and a shower. It was all pretty unpleasant. And I liked those Hurley shorts!

Thankfully my wife didn't notice any of this. She came in and promptly passed out in her bed. I awoke at 3 AM to the sound of her vomiting. I knew 24 ounces of wine was too much for her. 

I woke up the next morning and found a generous coupon and hand-written note from the Melting Pot manager in my wallet. My wife now gets nauseous when she thinks of fondue. That poor manager will never see that coupon return to his restaurant.