Note: This isn’t meant to be a deep post, and no, it’s not “news,” but since it’s Friday, why not? Plus, we plan to share more embarrassing moment stories with you, ones you might be able to relate to. So we’re going to start with this interesting and somewhat horrific experience…
It started off as a pretty fun and laid-back Saturday morning. I was in New Jersey visiting my sister, her husband and my nephew, and we planned to get brunch together. And while I’m usually the #1 fan of any and all brunch outings, at that time, I was participating in the Daniel fast with my church, so what I could eat was very restricted. My days were filled with mostly just fruits and vegetables, and you could only drink water. So when we found our way to a nearby diner, instead of my usual pancakes with a side of hash browns, I had to opt for a salad with olive oil dressing, and marinara sauce with shrimp, mushrooms and peppers in it (our church was allowing fish in the fast, and shrimp was the best a gal could get). I decided to try and eat the marinara sauce as if it was soup since the actual soup options had dairy in them, and surprisingly, I was doing just fine with my struggle meal.
But that was until it was time for me to take the New Jersey transit back to New York City. I blame it on all that tomato…
As my sister drove me to the station, I could feel that uncomfortable rustling in my belly. And I could hear the noises. You know…the bubble guts. Thankfully, since I was sitting, a lot of that discomfort ended up settling down. But once she left me behind to stand and wait for the train, it got worse. And worse.
Moving around at an outdoor train station all by myself on an early Saturday morning, I did what any normal human being with gas would do: I farted. I farted freely, loudly and happily because the gas had been gathering and sitting in my stomach for at least an hour. Until I could get to a bathroom, I needed some release and relief. A lot of it actually.
But things started to look up for me when, after standing outside for 10 minutes in the middle of January, I realized that one of the two waiting rooms was not locked. Not only was it not locked, but the heat was on full blast, and I would have it all to myself. I could have done a praise dance if I hadn’t been experiencing extreme flatulence.
I grabbed my weekend bag, sat down by myself, waited for my train…and continued to fart. Life was all good again.
Until one of my farts literally turned into a hot booty mess.
I felt something that I shouldn’t have, and I immediately freaked out. My first thought was, No…, and I hoped it was a false alarm. As I felt my tights and my underwear–thankfully, there was no mess. But that didn’t mean I was in the clear. As it turns out, I had sharted on myself, outside, in a waiting room that anyone could have walked into at any second. And considering that I noticed more and more people gathering in front of the platform for my same exact train, people who could possibly see me, I panicked. While I didn’t shart enough to ruin my clothes, I did enough to need a private bathroom and some baby wipes to get myself together. I didn’t have either of those options available to me. I was outside, remember?
But what I did have, by the grace of God, was some personal tissues in my purse and some hand sanitizer. So I stood up, waddled to the door of the waiting room as I clenched my cheeks together (the other ones), and closed it completely by standing in front of it. In that super cold room, I cleaned myself up, balled up the tissues and put on the most hand sanitizer I’ve ever applied in my life. I would eventually throw the tissue out in an outdoor garbage and act like nothing ever happened. And as for that gas, once I stepped out with everyone else, I was back to holding it in.
Out of respect for my fellow (wo)man, since I didn’t have access to a bathroom to really clean my hands before my ride home, I put on my mittens and kept my hands hidden until I finally made it back to my abode an hour and some change later. To say I felt dirty as sh*t would be an understatement, but in retrospect, it could have been a lot worse. I could have stained my clothes, my underwear and had complete strangers laughing at me. But in the end, the only person who knew about my ‘incident’ was me…and well, now you.
So what can we learn from this situation? Always have tissue on deck, hand sanitizer for the win, and don’t ever get too comfortable in public. Trust me, it’s not a good look…or smell.
