My friend once recounted a rather unfortunate experience she faced while shopping for a birthday card. As she perused the aisles, she suddenly felt an unmistakable urge. Rather than make a beeline for the restroom, she found herself chuckling at a particularly silly card, thinking the sensation would simply fade away.
It didn’t fade, of course. Instead, she ended up with a surprise that could only be described as a “small walnut” making its way down her pant leg, ultimately splattering onto the store floor. She thought it was merely gas—until it became all too clear that it wasn’t. A rather unfortunate choice of going without underwear turned what could have been a contained mishap into a public spectacle.
Hearing this story was hilarious—because it wasn’t my experience, and I couldn’t help but judge. Who does that? Who allows themselves to have an accident in public, letting it roll down their leg and then simply walking away? Sure, if illness is involved, things can happen, but if you can’t make it to the restroom because you’re busy contemplating greeting cards, maybe you need to reassess your priorities.
Little did I know, karma had a sense of humor. One fine summer morning while vacationing, I found myself at a laundromat, clad in my favorite coral dress and sandals, washing my whites. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge that I had never experienced before. Panic set in—I was about to have an accident.
I began to sweat, my knees felt weak, and I momentarily lost my sense of self. The spin cycle was making me queasy, and I had to steady myself by gripping my daughter’s shoulders. In that moment, I too mistook the sensation for a mere fart. The realization hit me: I was not in control of my own body. Karma was indeed having a laugh, and I was about to make my own “deposit” in the laundromat.
With no pants to cushion the blow—only a dress and a thong—I felt the inevitable happen. And as the crowd around me began to notice, I became a statue, frozen in embarrassment. I stood there, knowing that if I moved, the situation would worsen.
Who would have thought I would be the one to have an accident in public? Me, the woman in the coral dress with expensive sandals.
After what felt like forever, I realized I had to act quickly. My daughter and I needed to escape the laundromat and find a restroom. I had no choice but to tell her the truth so she would keep up with me as we dashed across the street to the nearest grocery store.
“Sweetheart, I’ve had an accident. We need to run!” I said, urgency in my voice. Her wide eyes reflected disbelief and confusion, but she understood the gravity of the situation.
As soon as we exited the cool air of the laundromat, the oppressive heat hit me. The pavement was sizzling, and I had to sprint faster than I ever had, praying that nothing would drip down my legs any further.
Miraculously, the grocery store restroom was empty. I rushed in and quickly disposed of my soiled underwear, wrapping them in a mound of paper towels. My daughter stood by, trying not to watch, her young mind grappling with the bizarre scene unfolding before her. I explained that sometimes accidents happen, even to adults, and to please keep this incident a secret.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised, “I never want anyone to know my mom pooped her dress. Who does that?”
Oh, sweet girl, just wait until you experience this yourself. I can only hope you’ll be wearing something suitable to handle such an incident when your time comes.