The most embarrassing day of my life
So I broke out in hives on my torso and back during my 10 hour plane trip today. It’s grotesque. This vacation showcased a series of embarrassing episodes that left my face red.
First let me say that during my trip I sharted. For those of you who don’t know what the term ‘sharted’ means allow me to enlighten you: sharting is when you have to fart but when you do a little shit comes out. Oh yes my friends, this was my unfortunate experience during a friendly family excursion with my friend Ramiro, his sister, her friend and two nieces last week. I attempted to handle the matter as discretely as possible but when I visited the toilet I was hit with the cold stark reality that in foreign lands people don’t believe in toilet paper.
With my tail between my legs I ran back out to ask Ramiro’s sister for some napkins, lying and saying that I had to take a number two when in reality I had to clean up a mess that was in my pants. I know this is disgusting, but understand that you have to fully appreciate how excrutiatingly embarrassed and traumatized I was by this entire debacle. Admitting that you have to take a number two is bad enough, but admitting that it’s far worse than that was simply not something I was willing to do.
As I returned to the toilet I realized that the locks didn’t work, so I had to push my body against the door to keep it closed as I took off my shoes, jeans and underwear and cleaned my bottom. Oh yes, this is no lie. But what would I do with my dirty underwear you ask? Well I’ll tell you what my original plan was: to throw the evidence in the garbage, but of course in my moment of desperation there were no trash bins near by. So what did I have to do? I had to walk a long way with my dirty underwear tucked into my jacket to the only trash bin with no children present to witness my humiliation.
The only snag to this plan was that as I was walking to carry out my plan Ramiro appeared out of no where and asked me where I was going. Curtly I told him to leave me alone and that I would meet him and the rest of the clan in the cafeteria when I was finished doing what it is I had to do. Now think about how strange this entire episode must have been for Ramiro: I was literally walking away from him for what he thought was no apparent reason.
Of course if I was back home and in the company of my friends this would have been hilarious, but instead I was with strangers, and children, so I couldn’t possibly stop and explain to them that I had just pooped my pants. That would have left a severely bad impression. The whole episode just got worse and worse and worse and began innocently enough with my attempt to handle the matter privately and discreetly but as is usual in my peculiar life, that is not what God had in mind for me.
The day ended funnily enough, with Ramiro’s sister and I having a lovely conversation, she in Spanish, me in English, pretending to understand what the other was saying. I can’t be entirely certain but I think we were talking about Jesus.
Note: I do not have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. This was the first, and hopefully only time, this kind of thing has happened to me. I think I have paid whatever debt to society I have owed.