At fifteen, I went on my first date. It was a lame “mall date” during which we browsed Spencer’s Gifts, Waldenbooks , Wicks ‘n’ Sticks and some comic book store with a dirty bathroom. The bathroom was the most memorable part of the date, because I spent at least twenty minutes in there. It was the heaviest day of my period, and I tend to poop a lot on those days. Gynecologists will tell you this is normal, as uterine contractions can also activate the shit reflex.
The business of crapping is unsexy conversation on any date, much less a first date in which the participants are already so uncomfortable with their teenaged bodies, the uneasiness is palpable. So, while I was in the bathroom, churning out round after round of nastiness, I devised my alibi. [Read more...]