Ground, open up and eat me

Mariposa, author of Mariposa's Tales, is hosting Fun Monday today in celebration of her 3-year blogging anniversary.
Thanks lady, and CONGRATULATIONS!

The topic she chose is High Moments in Our Lives:
If you could share to us 3-5 high moments in your lives...this could be funny moments...the you can't believe you did it moments...the "I told you so" moments...or the times we asked the ground to go open and eat us moments! You need not write a book to explain them, the highlights will do.

I chose the humiliation event. If you dare.... Read on:

* * * * *

It was just an ordinary Saturday -- as ordinary Saturdays rolled those 15 years ago.

My youngest daughter, Mandy, invited a new classmate to join us at the region’s best shopping center. (60 miles away.)

We had an understanding at the mall. I kept track of them, but stayed my distance. (As any un-cool mother must do so as not to embarrass her 12 year old daughter.)

We had a fun shopping day and I had been the perfect host. ( She'd not once groaned “Oooohh mom” or rolled her eyes.)

It was an “Alls well that ends well” scenario as we headed for home.

That is, until I saw the brand new furniture store from the freeway. (Several signs advertised rock bottom sales.)

I had been browsing some stores closer to home looking for a new living room couch. I took the nearest exit with high hopes that I might find one that I liked - on sale.

After I parked the car, we headed into the brightly illuminated showroom. (The girls weren’t interested, but thought it would be less boring than waiting in the car. Boy howdy!)

A queasiness crept up on me as I looked at styles and compared prices. We were at the farthest end of the huge sales floor when the cramps hit me. (Like a hammer.)

“Oh No……….where’s the ladies room?” I whispered frantically, took one step towards the girls, and lost control.

Praise be! It was only gas! But, it was amazingly offensive. (Loud and long and disSTINKtly malodorous.)

“Oh mom, how could you, Oh! Oh! OH!” My daughter’s mortified expression made my stomach hurt more.

I’d done the unpardonable. (“Dear God, why didn’t you give me sons for a time like this?”)

My heart beat wildly and I could barely speak, “Girls, leave! Car, now!”

Each of my steps was accompanied by a syncopated release of methane. (The proverbial purple cloud formed as I hustled.)

When the situation reached the two girls noses they covered their faces and let their feet fly to the distance exit. (They waited but pretended they didn’t know me.)

I began to laugh. (Hysteria.) That door was miles away and I was going to melt into a puddle before I got anywhere near it.

Thank goodness some resolve formed and determination overruled. I scouted out the direct route and set my jets. (A surprisingly accurate description.)

The young male clerk at the opposite end of the store, however, had observed our odd behavior and was determined to offer his services.

My escape was in sight and I refused to make eye contact with anyone. (Eyes on the goal, you know) The toxic bloom increased with my speed.

Recognizing my intent, the clerk altered his zig zag route just in time to intercept me about 20 feet short of the door.

“Can…. I help you….. ladies …..find something,” he spoke with short breaths. (Induced by an open sprint and several long jumps over displays.)

I just wanted to get out of there. (I was aimed and fully loaded.) I had no patience nor any desire to share space with him and the asphyxiating cloud that would be arriving in short order.

Without slowing, I physically brushed him aside, mumbled some desperate apology about losing track of time, and vaulted for the exit. (That rude little push was nothing compared with the lethal assault coming for his nostrils.)

The automatic door couldn’t open fast enough, and I was in my car in a nano- second. (They didn’t have nano seconds back then, but I’d already borrowed into future years of embarrassment and I deserve that description.)

My shame was so complete and so deep that I don’t remember much else after that. Not the hour plus drive home. Not dropping the friend off at her home. Darn! I don’t even remember her name.

The poor flatulently abused child never graced our home with her presence again. (I doubt she forgot my name. Can’t you just picture her pointing me out to her parents at the next PTA meeting?)

It wasn’t very long after this incident (and my memory back in working order) that I found a suitable new couch in a different store. That leads me to the 2^nd most humiliating day in my life. But, you’re not going to hear about it today.

Please link here to read something more inspirational and encouraging from the other Fun participants. (And then pretend that you don’t know me, either.)