I want you to laugh. How can I make that happen?
I am so tempted to write a funny story about a friend or Bailey but I won’t. I am also tempted to tell you about the time my brother tricked me with the ‘apple juice’ or about the time I tricked my dad into eating a robin egg. Those times are funny and disgusting but I think there is something better. I have no idea the thoughts you currently have toward me, if any, but this story will definitely alter your current view. I think the story is better told verbally, as I get to use dramatic pauses and fun hand/leg motions, so if we are in the same room and you want to hear it then ask. I will tell it; it keeps me humble. For the readers sake, I am leaving out lots of details. Here goes:
One day, I was at a clients house cleaning out her closet. It was about lunch time when we neared the end and so we decided to go grab some lunch. Where else should you go to grab a delicious lunch with a stranger (or anyone for that matter)? Chipotle. We went, lunch was great and we headed back to her place so I could pack up my rolling racks and what not. THEN. It hit me. Like the time in 3rd grade when I wasn’t looking and ran smack dab into the tether ball pole, so did the sour cream when it met my stomach acid. It was enabling. Some people would have just gone to the bathroom but when you are with a client and the bathroom is in the same space that you are working and WWII is happening in your guts, you tell your body that it is going to have to wait. There is no way I was going to destroy this ladies toilet. I quickly packed up my stuff and headed home.
15 minutes... I can hold it... Prayer... Come on green lights... Sweat... Shaking...
Halfway home, I started interceding on behalf of my colon and I did the whole, ‘if there is a God in heaven’ prayer. I had to go and I had to go NOW! I pulled into a McDonalds parking lot where I sat for 2 more painful minutes plotting my escape route to the bathroom. The problem was that I was clenching so tightly that to step out of the car would mean the destruction of my high end jeans. So I counted.
The good news is that most people have had a ‘blow out’ in their day. I think most people have them as infants, but once you get crap on your knees as a 27 year old, you realize that you are not above anything.
Has this happened to you??