One night she started to walk around the bed in what looked like a drunken stupor, staggering around, with her back legs giving out from behind her. I woke up in a panic, and thought she wasn't able to walk and that she was having a stroke (again). I was freaking out, so I rolled over, violently shaking my husband to wake him up.
"She can’t walk, she can’t walk," I cried. He woke up startled, leaned up in bed.
"What's wrong with her," he asked, half-dazed, half-pissed off (it had to be 3 in the morning).
"Her legs aren't working! Look at her back legs," I told him.
He propped himself up further, and squinted to focus. Just as he did...
"What the...She's sh**ting on me! She's f#$@ing sh**ting on me!" He was hysterical, and couldn't even begin to get mad. We both sat there (momentarily) laughing until it hurt. Ohhhhh, she could walk just fine. She just had an immediate case of bowl movement directly onto the sheets covering my husband's legs. Gotta love the old lady, and her sense of entitlement!