Here’s your daily scat chat — xoJane, the same reputable alt-fem site that up until recently tossed piles of cash at Cat Marnell to push self-serving piles of druggy drivel about how cool she is because she refuses to stop using a boatload of narcotics -- is now running an essay by a writer named Emily who apparently pooped her pants this weekend. A common disaster, right?

Well, not for Emily, who doesn’t respond well to the turd in her pants despite the fact that she’s at home with her baby — who, at his or her age, probably loves poop -- and her husband, who seemingly agreed to deal with these sort of situations when he and his incontinent wife did that thing called “getting married” that we hear about so often these days.

ShartGate started when Emily was on the floor playing with her young child — an adorable, innocuous act of mother-cub bonding. The harmony wouldn’t last for long, however, as momma got a little carried away with her flatulence, attempting to toot one out when the time wasn’t right.

Now any expert farter knows you just don’t pull maverick farting stunts as Emily did this weekend. When the time is right, the time is right, and Emily made the grievous error of testing fecal fate. She was essentially playing Russian roulette with her butt.

Instead of a plume of fart, Emily was greeted by, in her own words, “flecks of things” and “POOP-SOAKED UNDERTHINGS.” Emily paid the ultimate price for her presumptuous negligence: She pooped her pants.

Her initial reaction is horror and fear, describing herself after-the-fact as “full to the brim of Coke Zero and shame right now” [It bears mentioning here that Coke Zero is full of all sorts of chemicals that could make you do things like unsuspectingly poop yourself]. Well, Emily doesn’t seem so much disgusted with her action as she is concerned with her husband’s reaction (surprise-surprise--he doesn’t really bat an eye).

At this point we’re treated to a lengthy history about Emily’s bedwetting, secret love of farting, and horrid fear of having her husband know what goes on when she does No. 2.

But how petrified of her drippy slip-up can she really be if she not only published this piece (with copious disclaimers about why she almost didn’t), but also included a picture of herself to accompany it?

When she arrives at work, Emily gushes about the incident to her co-workers (including Jane Pratt), which doesn’t strike us as the tactic of an embarrassed and horrified individual. Her cohorts, of course, tell her that pooping one's pants is perfectly normal. The scene is reminiscent of a mother comforting her child about a trivial event like, say, pooping ones pants.  Maybe that’s the genius of Emily though, exposing to the world that us adults are all just children, herself included, because she’s sure as hell not as appalled as she claims to be. If this isn’t the case, she just sucks at farting.