Regression. It's a funny thing. Many a time I have thought maybe I have grown from being a titty-sucking, diaper-shitting baby. Sometimes I am reminded that I am wrong. No, I don't wear plastic 'roos to catch my dumps and piss, and no I don't suckle the mammaries, but friends, sometimes I'm an idiot.
As I left my friend's apartment the other day, I decided to release a little gas during my elevator ride. It felt a little warm, but nothing too off. However, earlier that day, when I forced myself to crap, I partly shat this weird clear oil. Now, I had been eating out a lot. So, I figured this was some food grease or something. Yeah, I know you don't really want to hear about it, but let's face it, fucker; you're gonna keep reading because you're interested.
Back to the story at hand - I fart in the elevator. As I exit and walk out of the building, I noticed things weren't copacetic. Things felt a little heavy and moist (I hate that word) in my chonies. I was hauling a little extra weight, if you know what I'm saying. I kept walking, but panicked. I was wearing shorts that were white with green pinstripes. "Fuck. This is going to seep through and everyone will see my shitty pants!" I thought. I still had about a 15 minute walk to the train, a ten minute ride, and then a brisk walk to my apartment. Of course, right as this dilemma occurred I thought, "I must call Hitler!"
So, I immediately called Chris and let him be privy to my situation. He thought it was hilarious and kept asking how sure I was that I had shit myself. I said I was nearly positive. I started realizing what a long trek I had ahead of me and tried to run after a cab whilst on the phone with him. I failed. Chris suggested I find an alley to either check myself or scoop out the poop from my undergarments. No thanks. I very luckily had a hoodie with me (which was weird since it was very humid/hot that day - God, obviously, works in mysterious ways) and tied it around my waist.
However, this exacerbated my paranoia. "Everyone must know I shit myself," I thought. "No one wears sweatshirts tied around their waists anymore. Everyone will know it's because I've had some sort of an accident."
As I made my way back home I text messaged Hilo and Erca Whale with "It has become quite evident during my walk that the 'innocent' fart I let escape was really the alarm call I ignored to me shitting my pants." When I got out of the subway station, I realized it had already been a half hour. I had been walking/standing in mushy pants for that long. (I hadn't sat during the subway ride because I didn't want to smush the poop all over my bottom). Does it seem weird to know that after this long, dirty trek, I was very hungry? Well, I was. I couldn't help it, really. Right off of my subway stop there is a middle-eastern man who sells cheap halal food. So, I figured "Fuck, I've been walking around with shitty pants for a half hour now - what's 5 more mintes?"
I gave the man my order and waited to hand him my 5 smackers. As I stood there waiting for the chicken to cook, he repeatedly turned back to me and smiled. Finally he told me:
"Jew...jew airre beyootifull."He smiled and obviously had no idea what I said. If he only knew, friends. If he only knew...
"Thanks," I said. "I just shit myself."
Well, the good thing about this story is that it ends somewhat happily. I immediately charged up my stairs and sat on the toilet. Thankfully, Internet Audience, I didn't shit myself, but I had the weird oily residue in my unders that I had seen in the toilet bowl earlier. It looked like slightly muddied water. Gross! HAHAHAHA! Oh well. The upside: I did NOT, in fact, shit myself. However, I still feel that I regressed to first grade - when the acute possibility of accidentally shitting myself was a grim reality.
Holding onto (the small remnants of) her dignity,
Tanya
2 comments:
I sense this might be a reoccuring experience for you ... I did notice you were walking a little differently than most back in July.
Just please clean yourself before next week.
I hope someone was in the elevator with you when you let out a flatuence so nasty it changed its physical properties from gas to liquid. And I hope that person was a forty year old jewish woman...because you know she went home to tell her son and/or husband about you.
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