I’m trying to figure out how to tell this story without completely embarrassing myself – especially considering that many people know who I am in REAL life… Oh well, I’ll just tell it…
I suspect that if I were a guy, I’d be proudly holding my head up high after the tale was told.
You’re thinking this story has something to do with flatulence, am I right?
Close – but no cigar…
I confess, I have another dress story…about myself…I think it’s hilarious…but it ain’t pretty. As with all my stories, it requires some back-story to get us to the hilarity – sit tight and enjoy the read.
Circa 1996, three significant events occurred in my life.
Event #1: my boyfriend of eight years asked me to marry him on Christmas Eve (1995)
Event #2: I embarked upon my first semester of graduate school while working full time as a Vocational Evaluator (January 1996)
Event #3: I had the pleasure of eating at an upscale restaurant where staff was not well versed in the importance of washing their hands after their own number 2 event.
First off, I had no idea that event #3 had occurred (well, obviously I knew I ate at a restaurant)- all I knew was that I was going completely INSANE working full time, managing graduate school and trying to throw together plan a wedding. It was not a great time in the Mom-Daughter relationship world. We fought constantly on any number of issues – but the biggest problem was the wedding dress. I have several back tattoos and a Grandmother that would apparently disown me the minute she laid eyes on my back. My back tattoos (and living in glorious sin for eight years with Scott) were the shameful family secrets that had to be kept from my Grandmother.
Anyway, during the insanity of all this stress, I thought I caught a stomach bug. Basically, food went in and about 2 minutes later food went out…but in a one-way direction if you catch my drift. Two weeks later and 10 lbs lighter, I had a sneaking suspicion that this was more than a stomach bug. I finally went to my doctor and he diagnosed me with Shigella – a wonderful intestinal bacteria that comes from human fecal matter. Even better, I had waited so long to go to the doctor that it had spread throughout my digestive system and took almost 8 weeks to run its course (no pun intended). To up the ante a little more, the combined stress of everything I wrote about above PLUS the stress on my system from the Shigella gave me a little bout of Irritable Bowel Syndrome (AKA the ever colorful name of SPASTIC COLON).
So because some schmuck at a restaurant took a dump, didn’t use toilet paper in the proper manner (or maybe not at all), didn’t wash his scat-stained hands, I went through 12 weeks of HELL. Let me tell you, a saltine-cracker-and-cottage-cheese-diet is not as glamorous as it sounds. I didn’t even get to experience any significant weight loss – that 10 lbs was IT. Completely un-freakin’-fair.
SO where does the hilarity come in you might be wondering? Well, I’ll tell ya.
All the magic happened in a bridal gown store. Let me be clear – I hate bridal gown stores. This one in particular was even more heinous than the rest. An obsequious and sycophantic saleswoman fawned over every ugly dress I tried on. I could have tried on a potato sack and she would have gushed with phony joy about how ‘fetching’ I looked. One of the things that I hate about bridal dresses is that they size them one size smaller than they should be – so a size 10 person would actually have to get a size 12. The kicker to that (besides the agony of feeling ‘fat’ because you cannot fit in your normal size) is that any dress size 12 or larger is more expensive because it’s considered a ‘plus’ size. At that time in my life, despite eating crackers and cottage cheese for all my meals, I was size 12 to 14 (due to my linebacker sized shoulders). Let me tell you how fabulous I was feeling trying on size 16 dresses that would look good but not show my tattoos. Coupled with the annoying sales person – I was at my wit’s end. I am obviously not a “shop ‘til ya drop” gal.
Then it happened…my guts started to churn, my stomach cramped and I broke out in a clammy damp sweat. I ran into the dressing room, threw off my dress, threw on my clothes and asked for directions to the bathroom. No public restrooms – just a dirty bathroom in the back storeroom. At least it offered privacy…
Oi – I can’t go on … just watch this and you’ll know what happened… (the true horror occurs 1:45 into it)
Ok – I didn’t remove the toilet and dump the contents out the window– but I did quietly run out of the store kind of horrified and embarrassed for obvious reasons. The only thing that made me feel GIDDY WITH JOY slightly happy was thinking about the look on the salesperson’s face when she went to use the bathroom.
And that’s my story ~