It’s 2:51pm. I want to eat a bag of M&Ms. I need Sudafed. And I have a fart trapped sideways, meaning I can’t fart because I’m at work and there are too many people around. I’m a fucking lady. I don’t fart in public. At least not audibly. I’m getting stomach cramps from holding it in. The only highlight of it being 2:51pm? It’s Friday. In 39 minutes I get off work and I’m going to the store and I’m going to get a giant bag of M&Ms and some Sudafed. I don’t care if I have to go to the cold and allergy aisle, pick up a plastic Sudafed card and then take it to the pharmacy counter where they’ll look me up and down and verify I’m not going to make any meth.
God damn it. I’m at the drugstore, I really have to fart and there’s a fat dude wearing camouflage head to toe and one of those furry hats with earflaps and he won’t move so I can get to the shelf to take a plastic I’m-not-making-meth Sudafed card. I have my enormous bag of M&Ms and damn it, one of those blue Dansk cookie tins because those cookies are made out of crack and I’ll probably eat them all in the next 3 hours. I have to drop off a prescription and the pharmacist uses my first name before she even looks at my prescription. That freaks me out a little. I know using a customer’s name is a “You’re important enough to us and not just a name on your anti-psychotic medication” tactic. It’s a little disarming and I suddenly want to hurl the blue tin of cookies at her head, punch camouflage guy in the throat and run screaming into the night (because it’s 4:20 and almost fully dark). But that would mean leaving my M&Ms behind and when it comes to candy I’m like a Marine: No man (or candy or cookie or cake) gets left behind. And that fart is still trapped sideways.
I wish I could be a little kid. Kids under 10 are uninhibited. When they say things it’s not because they’re being little assholes. They just want to know why that lady’s butt is so big or why that guy has one arm or why that lady looks like she’s holding in a painful fart. Last Christmas my 6 year old niece was riding on her dad’s shoulders when we heard her fart. It sounded like wet hands clapping together. My brother (trying hard not to laugh) says “What do you say?”
“Merry Christmas! I mean, excuse me.”
But I’m an adult woman. I pay for my M&Ms, my cookies, my anti-psychotics and then fart as I walk by the camouflage guy.