So, Kari and I went to do a little shopping and spend some time hanging out.
The stores were nice, the prices EXCELLENT, the opportunity to get out together - fabulous.
On the way home, we were minding our business staying in our lane despite the construction ripping up one half of the west bound part of US 72 when suddenly our senses were viciously assaulted with what can only be described as a mass skunk bomb that lasted for miles.
HOLY MOSES WHAT IS THAT STENCH!!
My eyes were watering and Kari had dragged up the neck of her shirt to cover her face so she could attempt to filter the air she was breathing.
It lasted for MILES AND MILES!! This must have been the jumping off spot for the skunk version of the hereafter because there was nothing but the thick green mist, metaphorically speaking, passing through the cracks, crevices and pores of the PT Cruiser.
There was NO escaping the stench!! I was willing to shove my own socks up my nose just to save myself. Heck, I was willing to shove the socks of someone else up my nose!! OH MY GOODNESS!! THIS IS AWFUL!! Turning the A/C off didn't help. The pungent and nostril burning aroma just kept coming and coming and coming.
I swear the glass was beginning to melt! Holy cow, what a stink!!
Because I have a warped mind, I wondered aloud if we had a skunk somehow attached to the car or if perchance someone had pulled a nasty prank and shoved one under the hood while we'd been in the store. What a funny prank to play on two ladies. Ha ha NOT.
Then the tendrils of memory strolled back to a coffee commercial where they played a switcheroo to see what would happen. I alter it to suit my twisted sense of humor below.
"Today, the unsuspecting Kari and Shelley are about to be given a real change... let's see if they notice... The normal air filter they use to breath pure air in the PT Cruiser has been replaced... replaced with a roadkill skunk freshly gathered from the highway. Will they be able to tell the difference?"
"Mmm. Smell that country fresh aroma."
GAG! SPIT! CHOKE!
Yeah, we noticed alright. I think I'll remember that smell forever. No one - NO ONE - will ever say they prefer the switch between oxygen and skunk spray. And no one will EVER be fooled into thinking that is a pleasant change of pace.
The best part of waking up is NOT a skunk. Come to think of it, that fetid, malodorous "perfume" might be what causes the living dead. Michael Jackson's "Thriller" may have been about skunks instead of zombies. Either way, the horrified look is the same.
Air... oxygen... help... please....
September 17, 2014
September 16, 2014
Stories from the Stalls
Is there anything more humbling in life than being compelled to hop on one foot while trying to prepare a public toilet seat for occupancy when you REALLY GOTTA GO???
Men of the world rarely understand the anxiety of the female species because for them, the average restroom trip can be accomplished with a zip-a-dee-doo-dah and away they go. Women, however, endure something more akin to a strip tease but without the sexy music and applause. And frankly, there is nothing RESTFUL about that restroom visit. Talk about false advertising!
Having endured a few quality moments of trying to do all you can to keep from actually touching a toilet that may have been contaminated beyond all reason, I can fully appreciate the text I got from my sister Xan about the need to prepare, prepare, prepare with a capital "P" before you get to go pee or poop.
Public restroom peeing is bad enough, but public restroom pooping is an adventure not for the faint of heart or the weak of legs and arms.
Xan sends me the following text while I'm in the doctor's office waiting to get jabbed for a thyroid panel: "I just have to say that it is SOOOOO frustrating when you have to poop in a public potty!!! You take all the time to arrange your little toilet paper nest/shield from germs and death plagues. Then, just as you are about to poop on YOURSELF and hastily snatch your pants down, the toilet paper gets caught in an air current [created] from you yanking your pants off so fast and it falls into the floor OR into the potty!!! GRRRRRR!!"
Of course, I can COMPLETELY understand the horrors she describes because at that point, you are compelled to then gymnastically arrange yourself hovering over the toilet low enough to keep your butt, your undies and your pants from the "splash zone" when the aerial bombardment begins, but high enough so that your delicate skin is microns above the offending toilet itself.
It should be classified as an Olympic event.
Seriously.
The muscle control, the complete concentration, the amount of practice over years of visiting wayside potties, port-a-johns and outhouses of the world developed within a type of strength that would put Hercules to shame. Because he is a dude and well... you get the drift.
While women don't like to discuss this kind of tragedy so openly, we've ALL been there.
Of course, the reality of trying to be "a lady" and still get the job done factors into the equation as a variable. It is a complete game changer depending upon whether you've eaten beans and cabbage, or a diet of starches. Or if you recently altered your tastes to include salads, salads and more salads.
These all factor into the delicate balance between close enough and "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" when it comes to applying self to surface.
Naturally, someone kind has been through this and decided that not only was the torture of positional physics enough to be getting on with, some woman now boldly advertises a spray that can help with the ... uh... um... lingering aroma of what shouldn't be discussed at any time anywhere.
"Poo-Pourri" is gaining traction (if you will pardon the pun) as a means of eliminating and/or masking offending odors that make you seem more longshoreman than lady when you exit your stall.
They advertise their product as an attractive blend of essential oils guaranteed to "virtually eliminate bathroom odors". My only question is "Why didn't someone think of this before NOW?"
Happy trails, ladies, and let's hope that your trail isn't a trail of toilet paper stuck to your shoe or tucked down into your slacks on the way out of the bathroom.
Men of the world rarely understand the anxiety of the female species because for them, the average restroom trip can be accomplished with a zip-a-dee-doo-dah and away they go. Women, however, endure something more akin to a strip tease but without the sexy music and applause. And frankly, there is nothing RESTFUL about that restroom visit. Talk about false advertising!
Having endured a few quality moments of trying to do all you can to keep from actually touching a toilet that may have been contaminated beyond all reason, I can fully appreciate the text I got from my sister Xan about the need to prepare, prepare, prepare with a capital "P" before you get to go pee or poop.
Public restroom peeing is bad enough, but public restroom pooping is an adventure not for the faint of heart or the weak of legs and arms.
Xan sends me the following text while I'm in the doctor's office waiting to get jabbed for a thyroid panel: "I just have to say that it is SOOOOO frustrating when you have to poop in a public potty!!! You take all the time to arrange your little toilet paper nest/shield from germs and death plagues. Then, just as you are about to poop on YOURSELF and hastily snatch your pants down, the toilet paper gets caught in an air current [created] from you yanking your pants off so fast and it falls into the floor OR into the potty!!! GRRRRRR!!"
Of course, I can COMPLETELY understand the horrors she describes because at that point, you are compelled to then gymnastically arrange yourself hovering over the toilet low enough to keep your butt, your undies and your pants from the "splash zone" when the aerial bombardment begins, but high enough so that your delicate skin is microns above the offending toilet itself.
It should be classified as an Olympic event.
Seriously.
The muscle control, the complete concentration, the amount of practice over years of visiting wayside potties, port-a-johns and outhouses of the world developed within a type of strength that would put Hercules to shame. Because he is a dude and well... you get the drift.
While women don't like to discuss this kind of tragedy so openly, we've ALL been there.
Of course, the reality of trying to be "a lady" and still get the job done factors into the equation as a variable. It is a complete game changer depending upon whether you've eaten beans and cabbage, or a diet of starches. Or if you recently altered your tastes to include salads, salads and more salads.
These all factor into the delicate balance between close enough and "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" when it comes to applying self to surface.
Naturally, someone kind has been through this and decided that not only was the torture of positional physics enough to be getting on with, some woman now boldly advertises a spray that can help with the ... uh... um... lingering aroma of what shouldn't be discussed at any time anywhere.
"Poo-Pourri" is gaining traction (if you will pardon the pun) as a means of eliminating and/or masking offending odors that make you seem more longshoreman than lady when you exit your stall.
They advertise their product as an attractive blend of essential oils guaranteed to "virtually eliminate bathroom odors". My only question is "Why didn't someone think of this before NOW?"
Happy trails, ladies, and let's hope that your trail isn't a trail of toilet paper stuck to your shoe or tucked down into your slacks on the way out of the bathroom.
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