Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Walk of Shame

Today, I was walking on the trail with my friend, her dog, and my dog Teddy. We were having a good time, chatting, gossiping a little, looking up into the trees, and laughing at the dogs.

I hate when I'm having a perfectly good time with someone and gas creeps into my gut, changing the way I need to breathe to keep it from slipping out. It can change the timbre of a conversation, going from lightness and the nature of trees reaching for the sun to the way a particularly good looking man once refused to acknowledge my existence in a group conversation. It wasn't as though I wanted to sleep with the guy. I had just had an idea I thought the group might appreciate. This GQ type of guy, seemingly in charge, wouldn't even respond when I spoke, preferring instead to listen to the pretty woman in front of me or spouting his own better-looking ideas.

"People may not remember what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel." Carl W Buehner, 1971.

I had thought Maya Angelou said this, but I seem to have been wrong. That was what happened with this good-looking man and I have disliked him ever since. And, though the incident occurred a few years in the past, its stench hit me with fresh fervor.

And my gut began to hold a slight cramp as I tried to keep up with my friend on the trail. Open air could be my friend, I thought.

So, as I walked, I tried to let her take over the conversation for a bit so I could breathe a little more carefully and let a little gas go. I was grateful when she walked ahead of me.

Thinking I might be in the clear to let it slip quietly into the open air, I paused and let a little distance separate us. Silently, I let go a little of the pressure. Good. Silence is a virtue when it comes to unwanted gas. The breeze in my face was fresh, I then walked on more quickly, thinking I could outrun myself.

No such luck.

My friend paused to let her dog pee and I was forced to either come to an abrupt halt or slow down and still pass her by. I opted for looking sort of natural and passed her slowly.

Then, the breeze shifted and slapped me on the back, as if laughing at his own joke, and a waft of god-awful stench enveloped me. Being outdoors had not made it safe. I could not blame this on the dogs. I was forced to leave a neutral, if slightly awkward look on my face, and pretend that nothing had happened.

After that, even the conversation about how some good-looking guys can be seriously cruel, turned down a blind alley and we walked along in silence.

And I walked in shame.

Thank you for listening, jules

No comments:

Post a Comment