“A lady should be seen and not smelled.” Anonymous
Last weekend some friends and I threw an engagement party for a friend at the home of a pal in the suburbs. Shopping the night before and spending the day getting ready for the party reminded me and the girls of our days as roommates at Illinois State. We ate fast food, watched soaps, took naps, and since we’re oh so comfortable around each other—stunk up the joint when the need arose.
Some of us are better at this than others. That day one friend was expelling gas so obnoxious while she was getting ready in an upstairs bathroom, that I literally stopped in my tracks before getting to the door, ran the opposite way and locked myself in a bedroom. As the party progressed, she left lingering reminders of herself in rooms.
I’d walk in and say, “She was in here, wasn’t she?” Ghost-white friends would nod silently.
Earlier, before the guests arrived, we filled in a boyfriend and a husband on the gastrointestinal disorders of the day. Truly disgusted, the boyfriend remarked how his friends are NEVER as crass as we are.
Yet, Mr. Disgusted has been around for over 10 years and this is nothing new for him. He knows that when we take trips together, we come prepared with enough matches and air freshener for hotel bathrooms. He knows that on occasion, we talk about bodily functions and sex like a bunch of 14-year-old boys.
This past Saturday, it was me and another former roommate heading back from the Bolingbrook IKEA to our hometown for a 30th birthday party. It was an uncomfortable and tense ride for both of us. We do have problems dropping s-bombs in public places (come on, we’re not that gross) so we were literally sucking it up until we got to our respective mothers’ homes.
As we drove into the Central Illinois sunset, she shared the following story with me. Unfortunately it’s true.
A few years ago she said she was on a gin and Squirt kick which didn’t agree with her. Hungover, the next day she was eating a Burger King meal at her house with a friend when she prepared to break wind. Or so she thought. Her lucky companion, who I saw later that night tells the rest of the story like this:
“She shot up and had both hands behind her holding her ass. She then blurted out, “Dude I think I just shit my pants!” While I fell over laughing, she takes one of the hands holding her ass and TAKES A BITE OF HER SANDWICH before running to the bathroom.”
The guilty party in this said she took that last bite because she knew she was going to be in there for a while. And well, she was hungry.