My stomach is eating itself

Here we go.  You sit up at the edge of your bed and curl up into the fetal position because your stomach has decided to enter a competition entitled, “who can stay on the tilt-a-whirl the longest!?” Virginia either decided she was tall enough for the ride, or simply wanted to get back at you for eating that spicy taco with extra guacamole.  Whatever the cause, today she is pissed.

So there you lay. Clenching your knees that are now burrowed under your chin to pressurize your stomach.  Your husband, boyfriend or maybe girlfriend…rolls over, looks at you and says, “oh that again huh?”  Or, if you have nice siblings like mine they would say, “are you pretending to have a baby?”  Better yet that money question, “is it that time of the month again?”  Here is where Virginia makes me lose all self control and I say, “SHUTUP AND RUB MY BACK! SCREW YOU! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS FEELS LIKE!”  After the pulsating vein in the side of my neck relaxes, I realize they had a point.  I was laying there, knees hugged tight, moaning like a dying donkey.  But they don’t understand this kind of pain unless of course, they have a constant spell of diarrhea.

You make it through your morning and arrive at work or in my case, class.  You sit prepared for the day and about ten minutes into the time you entered the building…she gurgles.  Quickly you grab your stomach, hoping no one can hear it.  But it gets louder.  The sound of a hippo choking on its lunch lurks inside your stomach, inflating the pelvic walls with every moan.  The pressure builds and now you have to stand up to give it more room.  It is time to get to the bathroom.  People are staring now, wondering if you are hiding a punching baby gorilla under your shirt because with each step your back hunches closer and closer to the ground.  It’s like you have mastered the standing fetal position.

You reach the bathroom and there is another woman in there.  Both of your stomachs together make a marching band with an exceptional drum-line.  Sweating now, you can hear the music, dun dun dun!  You both look at each other with that oh so familiar look…

Both of you share a pain stricken giggle and make way into the stalls.  This is where my personal experience comes into play.

There I was sitting in the stall and this woman, exploding might I add, hollers over the stall wall first to ask if I had a boyfriend and then to say, “I’ve been with my husband for 14 years.  I think he is cheating on me but I can’t seem to figure out why.”  Elbows on my knees, head in hands, screw squatting, this day has been rough, I say to her, “oh. well that’s unfortunate.”  Having to cut off my bathroom break, I flush the toilet to flush out her discussion of the disintegrating sex life between her and her cheating husband.  As I wash my hands, she leaves me with this piece of advice,

“Staple your legs shut because once you sew a zipper between there, it is much easier for a guy to control when the zipper stays shut or when it unzips.”

Having absolutely no idea what this little bathroom lesson is supposed to teach me I just say through the door, “oh haha..yea I guess so,” and walked out.  Not only was my break to release the hippo, punching gorilla, and marching band interrupted, I now can’t step foot in that bathroom again, for fear she might still be lurking in that stall.

Virginia: 1 You: 0

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