Friday, June 26, 2009

The moments that live in infamy.

So, I've had this blog post in my head for a while now. It isn't something that I would normally share, but since it's been over a year since it happened, and I'm over most of the trauma from it, I think I'm okay with letting you all have a good laugh at my expense.

So, you know, we have those days when a little friend visits us and we get to be grateful that we are women (snort). So, I had one of these days while I was at work. I wasn't prepared, and I quickly determined that my only option was to take care of what I could and throw away my underwear. Not something that I would normally want to do, but I was desperate, and I knew everything would be okay if I could only get through the last hour of work.

So, I finished up with my business, took off the offending pair, put my pants back on (yes, I was going commando. Lovely.) and left the bathroom stall, my panties in a very tight wad in one hand. As I open up the stall (am I REALLY sharing this with the internets?), the bathroom door opens and in walks Janie, a woman who I have worked with for 9 years, but am not very close to. I'm at a loss, because my panties, which I desperately want to wrap in a paper towel and bury in the depths of the garbage can, are in my hand. I can't do this with Janie in the room. I also can't wash my hands, because my panties, again, are tightly clutched in my hand.

So I just stood there, just outside of the stall, and had the most uncomfortable, long-winded conversation with Janie that I've ever known in my life. I still cannot remember why she came in, nor what we talked about, but I can clearly remember that the same phrase kept going through my mind: "What do I do? How am I going to throw these *()&((**)*@#!#$@ underwear away without Janie knowing?" I could see her being a little confused at my actions, as I stood there stock still, hand clenched, in the same spot the entire conversation. Maybe she was thinking, "what does Becky have in her hand?" Or possibly, "Isn't she going to wash her hands? Ew, gross." I'll never know. But I do know that I did not move a step the entire time we conversed. I simply did not know what to do.

After a millennium, Janie finally left. She might have washed her hands, blown her nose, or just stopped in for a chat, I couldn't tell you. But finally, blessedly she left. I did what I needed to do, washed my hands for about 10 minutes, and went back to my desk. I was incredibly grateful that I only had an hour left. Let's just say I didn't really enjoy knowing I was commando at work, nor did I like the thought of riding the train in the same manner.

When I finally reached Shane, who was picking me up at the train stop parking lot, I didn't really say much. After being strangely quiet for a few minutes, I blurted out: "I had to throw away my underwear at work today. And I don't want you to tease me about it." Being Shane, he didn't really bat an eye, but got the whole story out of me. He laughed at me (how could you not?), but waited for a few hours to tease. Bless him.

So now you know about the horrible conversation I endured with my coworker while holding my own underwear in my tightly closed hand. And the reason that I can brag that I've been at work without any underwear.

Can we keep this our little secret? I would so appreciate it. Can you blame me for waiting a year to blog about it?

(Now tell me you've had embarrassing moments like these! Please, please, please!)


Anonymous said...

Oh my gosh! That would totally happen to me.

Really. It would.

I peed in my sleeping bag at girls' camp when I was 14 and got up in the middle of the night and threw all my clothes away. I was terrified of peeing outdoors because I was afraid someone would come walking by and catch me peeing on a bush, so I tried holding it in overnight. Didn't work.

Becky K said...

Britt, that is awesome. I'm so glad I'm not the only one who has moments like these.

Julie said...


E-mail me @ whippingitup at gmail dot com we'll get you all set

Ginger said...

I pooped my pants in my cousin's motorhome that was full of my cousins and aunt and uncle and there was also a girl there that was my age that I would soon be going to Jr. High with but had never met and it turned out that she was a head cheerleader/class pres type. Needless to say, we didn't become very good friends. Those big pink grandma's cookies used to give me the runs. I should have known.

Lucy said...

I have so many period nightmare stories I totally related to this one. I remember doing situps during gym class once and my GYM TEACHER had to come over to tell me that my shorts Mortifying.