Cathie's Blog

Saturday, June 25, 2005

From an anonymous contributor....(no seriously...I can't tell you who wrote it)

An Anonymous Tale

I'm at a bar, and I meet this girl. She's cute, about twenty years old, works as a tax preparer. I start talking to her and get her number. A couple of days later we go out to dinner. So we're at Chili's (yeah, I know--big spender) eating dinner and it's all "Blah, blah, my ex-boyfriend" and "blah, blah, work, yadda,yadda..." Finally she says something interesting: "(Something something something) because I'm blind." "What do you mean you're blind? You seem to be looking at me just fine." It turns out she's not "sunglasses and cane" blind, just "can't get a driver's license" blind. Anyway, legally blind, blind enough to have a special monitor on her computer at work..After a good hour of listening to her, I start to remember why I never go to Chili's. Let's just say that my stomach and Chili's food, they don't agree. I begin to realize that if I have a chance of making it home without shitting my pants on this date, we're going to have to leave IMMEDIATELY.

I asked her, "You ready to go?". But she's not ready. She's only halfway through her FISHBOWL-sized blue cocktail. So I sit still for a few minutes, but pretty soon I have no choice. "Really, we should go--there's a long line in front, and the waitress wants us to pay the check and leave." After a few minutes of cajoling, she reluctantly agrees to leave. We get in the car, and I suggest that we stop at my apartment a few blocks away. At this point, she probably thinks I'm trying to make a move, but all I can think about is my sweet, sweet toilet. Anyway, she agrees to go there, and I pound on the gas. Three agonizing minutes later, we're at my apartment...

Now, a word about my apartment. It was not much bigger than a studio--one bedroom, one bathroom, kitchenette, living/dining room. The couch was by the front door, and both were no more than ten feet from the bathroom. I escort her into my place, sit her down, hand her the remote control and tell her (as graciously as possible while squeezing my ass cheeks together as hard as I can and praying to sweet-motherfucking-Jesus-Christ for just ONE more minute) to make herself at home. I calmly stride to the bathroom, close the door, rip my pants off, sit down and...E-X-P-L-O-D-E. I thought I was going to die. Not at first, when I shit out my spleen, but right after that, when my liver came out. In the book I wrote, titled "The 100 Worst Shits I Ever Took" (available onAmazon), this was Chapters 1 through 97. It would not stop.

And, as you can probably guess, this was not a quiet event. So now, here I am on the toilet, about ready to sob from my disembowelment, when I start to realize that she can probably hear all this going on. Then it hits me...OF COURSE she can hear this--she could probably hear a mouse taking a dump, because if the Discovery Channel has taught me anything, it's that BLIND PEOPLE'S OTHER SENSES ARE HEIGHTENED. And if she can HEAR it, what the fuck is going to happen when I open the door and my tiny apartment is filled with a WMD-grade ass cloud? I was practically throwing up from the stench myself, so there's no way that HER sensitive nose was going to be fooled, no matter HOW hard I waved it up into the exhaust fan...After cleaning up the best I could without a firehose, I walked out the door, flashed her a coy grin, and...nearly shit myself again. I immediately dove back into the bathroom for Round Two, which ended up being just as loud, painful and malodorous as its predecessor.

In absolute desperation, I reached into my pocket, grabbed my cellphone and dialed a friend of mine, for two reasons: one, I somehow thought that maybe, just maybe, she would think that I just always talked on the phone in the bathroom, and that the noises and smells were just a coincidence; and two, maybe he would have an idea as to how to extract myself from this mess with just a tiny bit of dignity. Of course, this(soon-to-be former) friend had an idea, all right---to call his wife over to the phone so she could join him in laughing hysterically at me. But still trying to maintain the facade of "chatting in the bathroom", I made him stay on hold while I cleaned up. I walked out of the bathroom, on the phone, and went straight to my bedroom, where...Yeah, you guessed it...One more time...I ran into the bathroom, told my now-pissing-himself-with-laughter friend what a cocksucker he truly was, and went back to work...At that point, seeing no way out, I said "Fuck it", took a shower,walked out, and pronounced the date, unfortunately, over...

And that, my friends, is the best date I ever had.

Posted by Catronics :: 6/25/2005 :: 0 Comments:

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