What was your most embarrassing experience? Keep reading, bet you won’t top this one.
It all started at lunch. A perfectly innocent meal, except for the three large bean and cheese burritos that I ate for lunch. They were delicious, and I probably ate too much for lunch.
Later that evening, I arrived home with my husband greeting me at the door, grinning from ear to ear.
“Darling, I have a surprise for you tonight!” he announced, his excitement almost contagious.
Intrigued, I played along. He took my hand, blindfolded me, and led me carefully to my chair at the dining table. I was giggling like a kid. This is going to be fun, I thought.
Just as he was about to remove the blindfold, the phone rang.
“Promise me you won’t peek until I get back,” he said, hurrying off to answer.
I nodded obediently. But that’s when my troubles began.
Those three big bean and cheese burritos?
Oh, they were working overtime. My stomach felt like a boiling cauldron, and the pressure was rising fast.
I clenched. I held my breath. I prayed.
But physics, my dear friends, does not bargain.
Seizing the moment while my husband was occupied, I shifted to one side and let it rip.
It was loud. Very loud. The kind of loud that would make a foghorn jealous.
And the smell? My God. It was like a fertilizer truck had crashed into a skunk in front of a burning landfill. Horrific didn’t begin to cover it.
Panicked, I grabbed my napkin and fanned the air desperately, as if my life depended on it. Maybe I can dilute it!
Encouraged by the lack of immediate consequences, I shifted to the other leg and fired off another three farts. Each one worse than the last. I swear, if gas emissions were a weapon, I had just declared war.
For several glorious, stomach-relieving minutes, I let loose. It was euphoric. The sweet release of pressure. The bliss of finally being free.
But all good things must come to an end.
From the other room, I heard the final words of my husband’s phone conversation. My time was up.
In a panic, I flapped my napkin wildly, hoping, praying, that I had at least dispersed the evidence.
Then, with a calm and innocent expression, I placed my hands neatly on my lap and awaited my grand reveal.
My husband returned, I’m sure he was smiling.
“You didn’t peek, did you?” he asked.
“Of course not!” I replied, oozing with fake sincerity.
Satisfied, he reached for the blindfold.
And then, Surprise!
The blindfold came off, and in front of me sat twelve dinner guests.
Twelve horrified faces.
Twelve pairs of hands clasped tightly over their noses.
And in perfect unison, they forced out a cheerful, if slightly strangled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
I nearly died. Right there. On the spot.