April 2012

I’d had a lazy morning lay in, coffee in bed, reading the papers on my iPad. A good session working shoulders at the gym was followed by a light brunch with friends.

Then making my way home it struck me that due to having been working like a lunatic for two weeks my fridge and freezer were totally bare. So I took a detour via the supermarket, now I hate shopping for food. Having to practically run through the sweets, treats and cheats section, the bright fluorescent strip lighting and piped music makes me want to run for the hills.

I don’t find them very inspiring with their lay out. In an ideal world produce would be laid out in a way that makes me think of a recipe rather than have to wonder aimlessly around looking for ingredients. I will inevitably forget the KEY ingredient in any meal.

This particular store has had a makeover since my last visit so I was even more lost than usual, probably the only time I get mistaken for a straight guy is when I struggle my way around looking dumbfounded.

I had placed about 3 items in my basket, when disaster struck. Completely without warning. My stomach lurched and then contracted and then yes, you’ve guessed it:

#thatawkwardmomentwhen you shit yourself in the supermarket.

I’ve been lucky to date, since starting medication a little over a year ago all of my toilet-based issues have actually happened when I have been either near or in the bathroom. But this was another story. Having heard horror stories from other people, I usually carefully plan my route to wherever I happen to be going by way of a few easily accessible rest rooms. I always carry wet wipes and a change of under wear.

But of course yesterday I was totally unprepared. I dropped my basket and hobbled out of the store, feeling the wetness leaking down my legs. I got outside onto the street, which was populated by the usual plethora of people going about their business but also a group of homeless drunks. Who where clamoring for my attention. I dropped my gym bag. Typically yesterday despite the cold I was wearing a hoodie and a quilted sleeveless jacket with a t-shirt underneath.

I tied the Gillet around my waist to disguise the noticeable stains and hobbled carefully to a coffee shop. Thanks are to whatever spirits look out for me that there wasn’t a queue for the restroom. And it also had toilet paper.

I locked the door and stripped off to clean up as well as I could, thankfully I had my gym kit with me, so was able to put on the under wear I had worn that morning on to replace the hideously soiled stuff. I stuffed that pair into the sanitary bin supplied for the ladies who frequent the establishment.

I tried to ring a close friend who lives 2 minutes from there to ask if she would grab an old pair of trackies of her husband to bring to me but she wasn’t at home.

So I left the coffee shop having made myself as presentable as possible. And hailed a cab home, typically I bumped into a neighbor who wanted to stop and chat as I put the key in my front door and I hope she forgives my seemingly rude response without me having to go into to much detail.

I stripped off and jumped straight in the shower and scrubbed myself clean, not sure whether to laugh or cry. I laughed, but vowed to never leave home again without an emergency pack and a map of all the conveniences programmed into my iPhone. A double boil wash later and I think I will be able to put the jeans on without thinking about #thatawkwardmomentwhen.