Today. It was today. I figured I would cut to the chase, and just tell you the when, now, as opposed to leaving my readers dangling in the balance of when I might've faced my demise. I'm sure the next question you might be wondering is, "But, how, fair maiden?" I like to think that other people regard me as a "fair maiden". Seems only fair. Okay, let me paint you a rather vivid picture. But I must warn you, you are about to encounter an array of emotions. One minute you might be in awe. The next, flabbergasted, and the next sobbing uncontrollably and filled with, what people who are full of themselves would call 'ennui'. So buckle up buttercups. It's going to be an interesting ride...
Picture this: Moi. Donning black gym pants (I don't do spandex because no one, and I mean no one, needs to see the outline and detail of my whale tail), and a pink v-neck tee (but not too deep of a v, because I don't want to look like a douche. Or a hoe bag, but I digress.) What does this have to do with the story, you might be wondering? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But I always teach my students that they should "paint their pictures with their words," and I like to practice what I preach. Okay, back on point. So, I show up to Zumba class, and all starts out as normal. There's a little Cha-cha, a little Salsa (not the nacho kind. Saddsies), and even a little Bollywood action. I'm sweating like a large farm animal in heat, and facing the back of the room while everyone else is facing forward. They clap, I stomp. They Cha-cha, and I almost take out a middle aged woman who has much smaller bat wing circumference than I do. You know. The usual. LMFAO comes over the loud speaker and tells me to "wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle", and I continue to "wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle" long after the song has ended. I just figure it's a way to burn more calories when your ass continues to shake while you step off to the side to guzzle your water, hoping you don't barf during the next wiggle. But I held strong. I swung my arms like it was my JOB. I did sit-ups until I thought I would cry. I lifted my rump off the mat and did pelvic thrusts into outer space until I thought my ass would simply fall off, and roll away crying. But I did it. *pats self on back* Then we got to my favorite part, which is the cool down. I was laying on my mat that smelled like an armpit, and contemplated what I should nosh on after class that wouldn't ruin 60 minutes of torture, when it happened. And I mean IT. The part where I almost died. As I brought my knees to my chest to take a deep cleansing breath, someone decided to unleash the fart hounds, and let a silent but deadly fart escape from their vicinity DIRECTLY INTO MY NOSE HOLES. Honestly, here was my thought process as I was facing what I was sure was my heartbreaking demise: 1) Oh hell no. Someone is going to think that decaying corpse of a diarrhea fart came from me! I almost wanted to announce to the class, "Wasn't me, folks", but I also know the tell tale slogan of, "Who ever blamed it, flamed it," and I wasn't about to go down that path. Thought number two went a little something like this: Oh dear lord, I can now taste it. I now know what death tastes like. I'm gonna die. I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie. This is when the instructor told everyone to take a deep cleansing breath, and I'm pretty sure I said, "Oh hell no". Out loud. Finally the fart explosion scent dissipated, and I was able to gulp in some clean oxygen. But as I sat up from my mat, you better believe I mean mugged every single broad that was in my vicinity. This isn't yoga class, people. If you have to do a number two, you high tail it out of there. Or go by the fan. A fan is always a good option.
So there you have it folks. I looked death in the face, and I held my breath until it went away. I am so strong. So brave. And so very, very nauseous. :)
