To borrow the title of an old Gap Band song, we all know about the public shaming that comes with dropping a bomb in a public restroom.
No one wants to talk about it, but we know it happens.
Mother Nature can be capricious and fun-loving sufficiently enough to ensure that we who possess the ability to evacuate our bowels can enjoy one of life's little embarrassing moments in a public location without any hope of escape from our "wrongdoing".
Sadly, we know it's coming when the first grinding spasm hits our abdomen and we know that no amount of begging and pleading will halt the action of an intestinal tract done wrong.
It's a tragedy that even Shakespeare couldn't have foreseen.
I know there is at least one company actively marketing their "solution" to your odoriferous exclamations. They claim their product can eliminate (if you will pardon the expression) any of your vapors and unfortunate residue that would leave more proof of your passing... again, sorry for the wording.
The reality is that when we are at home to take care of business, we REALLY take care of business. But on those ill-timed circumstances that compel us to an unfamiliar toilet in public territory when we know for sure all hell is about to break loose ... my deepest apologies but you KNOW that is what happens!
It becomes a matter of "how can I do this and keep even a shred of my dignity intact?"
Sadly, as you exit the stall having violated every single EPA designated Federal Air Quality guideline, the only hope for you is if the entire bathroom is empty. Alas, that pious hope is never realized as each stall is filled and there is line stretching out the door to enjoy, endure and empathize with your gloriously shameful performance art piece gone wrong.
Take heart though. I was once in a store where this snooty woman loudly proclaimed "someone sure made a stinkbomb in this bathroom" and then she was the proverbial elephant in the room with trumpeting noise and effluent eruptions to beat the band. I'm sure a couple of tiles fell off the wall by the time she was done.
The next time it happens to you (and dear hearts and gentle people, there WILL be a next time!), gird your loins, make sure there is no TP stuck to your shoe or trailing out of your panty hose and hold your head high as you exit your stall to wash up and depart.
It IS, in point of fact, the designated restroom mean to refresh yourself and take care of the ever popular call of nature that we all must answer. Drop that bomb. Waste that stall. Gas that room. Then walk out like the lady or gent that you are. After all is said and done, look 'em in the eye and say boldly "it's a fact of life, get over yourself!"
