Humor Non-Fiction posted June 8, 2012

This work has reached the exceptional level
Embarrassment Sucks Major Cow Patties!


by wordsfromsue

One chaotic Sunday in May, life resembled an out of control merry-go-round. I'd scheduled too many things that day, which always leads to babbling conversations with myself:

"Why do you put so many errands on your calendar? One thing alone flusters you."
"I don't know, because I'm bloody stupid?"
"You're not stupid, just forgetful as all get out."
"What were we talking about again?"
"You're a flippin' mess!"

On and on it can go, and that's IF my inner parrot Shut Up isn't chiming in: "You're proof God has a sense of humor, God's sense of humor. Squawk!" Oh, Shut Up!

On this particular day, my schedule showed four things planned in different areas of town; probably not a good idea on my part. By the last engagement, I was tired, overwhelmed and hungry. Time was short. I grabbed a large cup of Crystal Light fruit punch to drink on the way to tide me over until I could get popcorn at the matinee.

Racing to the opposite side of town for a five o'clock showing of "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel", I mistakenly thought it would take twenty-five to thirty minutes for the journey. Forty minutes was more accurate. No problem! Approaching the cinema at four-fifty pm, I congratulated myself on a timely arrival. WHY is there never a vacant parking spot close by when you want one? I drove around the area twice, and, with resignation, headed toward a lot down the road. Skedaddling out of my vehicle, I made a beeline for the Mariemont cinema. "Hurry, hurry, hurry," prattled my inner feathered friend.

Breathless, I approached the entrance as my friend Deb came out to meet me. "We were just about to give up on you. Here's your ticket. Go grab some popcorn." The concession stand magnetically pulled me over, and Miss Healthy Eater ordered a small, plain popcorn. Forgetting I'd just chugged a Big Gulp Crystal Light on the way, I asked for a large iced tea to go with the popcorn.

Making our way down the aisle, Deb led me toward seats close to the front row. Crap! I'm a 'back-of-the-theatre-aisle-seat' kind of girl, in case I need the restroom. I saw that my intended seat was smack dab in the middle, and I nearly cursed out loud in dismay. I HATE the middle of the row. Stepping over and past all of those people while juggling my purse, popcorn and drink; it was an effort to remain upright and smiling. Along with my memory, I seem to have lost my balancing ability and talent for navigating my size twelve feet through a sea of feet and knees in tight spaces.

Reaching the seat, I looked for a cup holder in the arm rest. No cup holder. Seriously? With as much grace as I could pretend to muster, I tried to settle into the seat while holding Big Gulp, balancing the bag of popcorn and putting my purse on the floor. I felt like a caged rat. In my head, I sounded like someone with Tourette's Syndrome muttering through sharp, gnashing teeth. It doesn't take much to discombobulate me at times.

Wow, what a brilliant film, so absolutely funny with lovely performances by the actors. I caught myself laughing out loud many times.

Finally finishing the jumbo iced tea and popcorn; an uncomfortable feeling took root down below. Mentally computing how much liquid I'd loaded into my ancient plumbing, I winced. No wonder my lower region was issuing groans and threats. WHY did I have to be stuck in the middle of a front section row? Just hold it 'til the end, Chugalug Girl. As the credits rolled, I could barely move. My eyes were swimming at this point and Shut Up kept uttering "Seek relief immediately. You're gonna blow. Squawkkkkk."

I was in pain. Reaching over a bit sideways, my fingers wiggled around, feeling for the bag. Where the heck was it? I sat back, waiting for the lights to come up so I could spy the elusive sack. Lights on. Oh, there it was! Bending straight forward, what happened next was more humiliating than when I defecated on the doctor during the delivery of my baby.

My bladder reacted as if someone had just launched a missile, shooting a heavy stream of urine out, much like an overzealous rocket. I was SO stunned, I sprung upright in the seat, still without that d**n bag. My poor vaporizing-from-humiliation brain was trying to solve my anal need to not litter, grab that bag, and get to the restroom without anyone seeing my shame.

Standing up and trying to discreetly observe my seat, I nearly cried when I saw the evidence of my personal tsunami. My pitiful prayer was that the next poor schmuck who got the seat might think it was spilled soda. Attempting to pull my short shirt down to cover my pants, I walked toward the exit, clenching my bladder with uber Kegels. It shouted for an encore release. Shut Up was parroting, "Just make it to the bathroom, make it to the bathroom, Pissy Pants.. Squawkkkk!"

I could not make up the ensuing series of events.

The usher stood at the exit, telling us due to the crowd in the hallway, we'd have to leave via the street exit. Normally, I would have remembered to voice my need for the ladies room and proceed toward the lobby. My brain was too befuddled at this point to do anything but inch my unwilling self in the direction of the exit, and pray the back area was shady, to at least hide the incriminating evidence.

Oh, no, not a chance. Sunshine blinded my eyes as I exited. An usher was posted at the door, taking cups and bags from patrons. His hands full, he directed me to the nearest trash receptacle. Hearing opportunity knock, I positioned the cup and empty bag in front of the scene of the crime, while trying to angle my shoulder purse to cover my backside. In hindsight, I probably looked like a special needs person having some sort of episode. Caring was beyond my capability at that point. I have no idea what my friends were thinking or if they knew I was having the worst moment of my life, and I still desperately needed to urinate.

I attempted to discreetly walk the four or five hundred steps required, with my back to the wall, to reach the front of the theatre. Going inside and explaining we'd been ushered out the back, I asked if I could please use the facilities. The Angel of Mercy replied in the affirmative.

Hobbling into the restroom, I gratefully sat down. The torrential downpour was somewhat embarrassing; I thought it sounded like a racehorse releasing a gusher. May I offer a warning to persons under forty who might be reading this? Enjoy your efficient, quick-emptying plumbing while you have it. At this stage of life, my bladder invites me to play a few games of Australian Patience on the cell phone while it thinks about doing its business. On a great day, you're out in ten to fifteen minutes. On a slow day, you're on the throne so long, the legs fall asleep and then it's a whole other host of issues! Sigh.

Arriving back at the car, I thanked the Lord for extra plastic Kroger sacks kept in the trunk to contain trash or whatever. I never thought one would be used for shielding the seat from my bucket. Reaching my personal point of overwhelmed, I phoned my husband to tell him the pitiful plight of wetting my pants. Talk about a second of silence on the other end. He asked me to repeat that, which I did, and I began to somewhat blubber as tears threatened to gush.

"So, what do you want for your birthday, a pack of Depends?" he asked. That did it. I snorted and started laughing, somewhat like a hyena, but it was a relief to let out all the pent-up embarrassment!

On the surface, it may appear that this story is only about an embarrassing moment. It's not. Later, pondering the events of the day, I admitted my old nemesis 'scheduling too much' got me again.

Now, if I can just remember I'm not a camel watering up for a trip across the desert and nobody needs two Big Gulps. Should I forget, please let my friend Shut Up squawk out a warning before I make like a cat and spray the territory!


I struggled with whether to post this or not. Incontinence isn't something I thought would happen to me.

At work the next day, I nearly fell out of my chair when my much younger coworker sneezed and cursed, "D**n, I just pissed myself." Young people don't vaporize from embarrassment over this? I found it mortifying.
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