TMI

TMI ALERT!

I'm in the grocery store (I'll keep the chain and town anonymous to protect the innocent) last night, cart full to the brim, heading out of the last aisle...when I feel it coming on. OH NO. Isn't GI distress THE worst feeling in the world? Yes it is. But like childbirth, you forget how bad it really is until you're in the moment - it's just the stuff of jokes. And you all know how I love to laugh...but, friends, I thought I was going to die. I was confident (well, not really) that I could make it out of the store though. I mean, I couldn't take the risk that my kale and Fig Newmans would be stolen out of the cart while I was in the restroom, could I?! And perhaps it would pass. So, I got in line for the register.

A man was in front of me. I thought he was almost through, but then wifey showed up with more. By the time it was my turn, the situation had gone from bad to, well, thoughts of needing a bucket and a mop. I tried to distract my lower intestines with trash-mag headlines...Oh look! Oprah's looking beautiful all in white. Quality girl, that Oprah. I wonder if she reads all the articles before they are published. How could she not? Tom Cruise...a pretty boy, not my type...good actor though...see Valkyrie if you haven't - good flick. He should wear an eye patch more often....maybe go unshaven for a day or two, get some dirt and scuff on his boots...then maybe Katie won't want to sleep in the guest bedroom. Some chick whose name I can't remember... a model maybe....anorexic...her sad tale. I could show her a thing or two about how to plump up (just stay away from the Black Bean Soup for lunch if you're going grocerying later, girlfriend). The spasms and quiverings and rumblings continue.

Check-out boy is ultra chatty with me, with his coworkers, anybody who will pretend to listen. His dad's family is Italian. His mom likes salt...so much so that she likes "food with her salt". Ha Ha...such a witty boy...and to think I'm only the 224th person he's shared that with today. He commented on all my organic items. I told him I ate a vegan diet, and that I had to keep the rest of my family happy and healthy too. He said he was vegetarian. We talked about his fondness for goat cheese...Nice boy.

I wanted to jump over the counter, grab him by the collar with both hands, and roar with spittle flying...."SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M PALE?! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M SHAKING?! I'M NOT GOING TO MAKE IT OUT OF THIS STOOOOOOORE!"

But I did finally make it out, and while frantically throwing the grocery bags into the back of the Trailblazer (not with my usual Fragile-Items-Go-On-Top care), I considered all my options...

#1 - I could go back in the store. I'd have to traverse the parking lot again, and the restroom is way in the back. I'M NOT GOING TO MAKE IT.

#2 - Maybe it would be better if I sit...I could drive down the road to McDonalds and use theirs - it's right inside the door (poor McDs - they get all the good stuff, don't they?). I'M NOT GOING TO MAKE IT.

#3 - I'll just empty a plastic grocery bag and bring it up to the driver's seat with me and....ok, that would just be BAD (but yet, somehow still a contender).

I went with #1. And I DID make it across the lot and through to the back of the store...and in the sweet afterglow I was tempted to kiss that white porcelain. Yay for sphincter muscles working properly. I'm sure Martha's been there and would agree...it's a Good Thing.

I drove home, my tummy tight from the ordeal, still making bubbling noises but content to just bubble (remember the sound the fat kid's stomach made in Stand By Me right before he barfed pie on everyone in the crowd?) True story.

I laid my head back on the rest, relaxed now, singing along to the stereo, and after I arrived home and hubby came out to help bring in the groceries, he asked...."What happened to the bread?"