TMI Alert: I may or may not reference events of a gaseous nature.
Picture the scene.
It’s a mellow Saturday night and you and your boo are bunking down to some vegging on the couch after inhaling many carbs and meat products. Thing is, you are gluten-intolerant but momentarily forgot this while scoffing a plate full of pasta, as you were surfing a dopamine-high and feeling invincible.
Until the rumbling in your tummy reminds you that you ain’t no super woman and pay back is a b*tch. You realise that a trip to the bathroom is imminent. Thing is, you're at your boo’s place…were privacy is relatively non-existant and trust me, you need privacy - sound-proof, nobody in a 10km radius type privacy and that’s pretty impossible.
Sweat beads collect on your top-lip, time is running out, so you enter into a hypothetical conversation that goes like this:
You: Laying it extra thick “Babe, can you go upstairs please.”
Your Boo: Why?
You: Rolling eyes ‘Cause I need to use the bathroom, duh.
Your Boo: Looking very confused “Ummm, I don’t get it. Why do I need to go upstairs if you need to go to the bathroom? Just go.”
You: Exasperated beyond all belief “Sweetie, just indulge me on this one please. Just go upstairs.
Your Boo: Looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind "I’m not going anywhere."
You: Realising subtlety won’t win the day “Listen, I need to drop it like it’s hot and chances are tremors may be felt and heard in neighbouring countries. I could really do with privacy ‘cause stage-fright is a huge possibility.
Your Boo: Convulsing in fits of laughter “You’re impossible. Go already…I’m not budging.”
You slink off in defeat to do your business but five minutes after arrival find out that stage fright has taken a hold of your senses...and bowels.
Thankfully, practicality wins the day and you emerge ten minutes later, ten pounds lighter with a skip in your step.
Now, this incident I’ve described above is pretty common judging by my research. I have a friend who can’t go unless she’s at home. This means holidays tend to be bowel-movement free and painful towards the end. I have married friend who after five years of marriage claims her husband is none-the-wiser about her need to “drop off the kids” as this event tends to take place at 3am every morning when said-husband is out for the count.
Ridiculous as it is, this need to keep up appearances manifests itself in a million different ways; from my boy’s ex-girlfriend who would wake up an hour before her alarm went off to “put her face on” and brush her teeth so he wouldn’t see her in bad light to women friends who believe a man should never see you putting on your make up as it robs a woman of her “mystery”.
The madness must stop people! We must keep it real…okay not too real, but you know what I mean right ;-)
Holla in the comments with your stories or experiences in “keeping up appearances”
This Ain’t American Idols People: The girls and I went out on Friday night to get our Karaoke on at Monte Casino. The process of picking a song is so overwhelming, the choices are endless.
When I come across a song that’s a strong contender I have to mentally go through the whole song in my head to weed out any suspicious high notes lurking about – I will save Mariah’s impossible tra-la-la’s for the car ride to work and back thanks. So after making selections (Madonna’s “Material Girl” and Jamelia’s “Superstar” got through the selection panel) we waited our turn.
Eh, where we just not shocked.
I think we picked the “I’m-no-amateur-and-wouldn’t-mind-a-record-deal” night ‘cause people were blowing that mic up in a way that deserved Grammy’s. Sure, one or two people sucked but I’d say 90% of the people who went up to perform, killed it. Talk about putting pressure on the rest of us folks, of average singing talent (expect in the shower where the acoustics are always amazing).
After a couple cocktails nobody on my table cared whether they could hold a note or not…thank the heavens for alcohol, the great
equaliser tranquiliser :-)
Today is a coolish, overcast day in the City of Gold. It’s what I’m calling an “Empire State of Mind” day = mellow and uber chilled with a slight shower of nostalgia expected in the late afternoon.
Have a great one chickens.