Last month I found myself at the mall searching for a great pair of summer shoes, a cute top to wear to Easter dinner, and a delicious fatty pretzel topped with enough salt to stop my heart and slathered in a peculiar (but wonderful!) slime they claim to be ‘cheese’.
All my happy thoughts came to a halt when I stepped into the mist of poo fumes. That’s right. The man walking ahead of me let off a stinker that was so horrible, I had to close my eyes so they wouldn’t melt out of my skull. A part of me panicked and wondered if his ass-aroma was going to stick to my clothes. I really didn’t wanna smell like deviled eggs and dead squirrel all day! But then a new problem arose when the ass-fog parted. There were people walking behind ME, and they would soon be enveloped in the Big Stinky. I knew how it would play out. Holding their noses and looking at my ass they’d wonder how something so rancid could come out of such a perfect specimen. (It’s my story and I’ll believe what I want!) Should I turn around and make a face, maybe? Turn around and make a run for it? Point and scream, “IT’S HIM! HE’S THE PERSON WITH THE STINKY BUNG HOLE!”
I did none of these.
I pushed the stroller to the side and loudly asked the baby, “Did you poopies? Let’s check!” The people behind me smiled as they passed. “Oh thank goodness” they thought, “It was just the baby. Of course! Why would we ever think a woman so beautiful would fart. Crazy!”
After they were out of sight, the 1-year-old smacked me in the face and whispered close to my ear, “You ever humiliate me like that again, you WILL regret it.” Oh kids! They’re so fun! But that did give me half a mind to do the same to the guilty cheek flapper. By the time I thought of it, though, the poopitrator was long gone and the air biscuit had wafted up to the second floor to ruin someone elses day.
It’s just as well, I guess. Confronting him would only have made an ass out of me.