c’mon girls how about a bit of camaraderie

Image source © eurobanks - Fotolia.com

Image source © eurobanks – Fotolia.com

Just let me say that, no, I did not poop my pants.

But that’s what most of the shoppers at the mall thought yesterday! No thanks to the several women, mums, girls, check out chicks (I can call them that because I was one) who definitely saw what was on my pants.

I know they did, because they were looking at me like I was crazy. And it was more than just the ‘oh my god run a brush through your hair woman’ type of crazy. And they were keeping an extra few feet of ‘crazy person’ personal space, which NO ONE ever keeps in the line up for a register.

And when I bent down with Buddy in my arms to pick up a toy which he had joyfully dropped in the game of ‘lets see how many times mum will pick this up’ I had to do it sumo-style. You know, the style where you are carrying a 15 odd kilo lump in your arms and have to pick up something the size of a pea between your legs before all hell breaks loose. But, people looked to the ceilings, and behind them, and the lady behind me pretended to fix something on her pram, and the pensioner lady two back checked her watch – she wasn’t wearing one! Too many coincidences me thinks.

Now I expect this from blokes because of the whole ‘oh my god that could be related to her anatomical ability to procreate because she was born with fallopian tubes and as such sheds the wall of her uterus every month – ewww gross’ embarrassment factor. But ladies, c’mon!

If it was me in line behind someone with a dark stain on their trousers, I’d go up to them and say ‘hey dude, you might want to check your trousers, there’s a dark patch on them’ or ‘sup man, did you know you’ve got something on your pants, thought you might wanna know’.

Had any of the ladies behind me, who conveniently had something to attend to on the ceiling as I did my sumo squat, mentioned this to me I would’ve been so thankful and wrapped my jumper round my waist to stop the glares. I probably also would’ve embarrassingly admitted that it must’ve been the ear of the Lindt bunny that I scoffed for breakfast in the car on the way to the mall and which I dropped between my legs and squished every which way trying to find it so that I didn’t end up with a brown patch on my pants.

Where did the camaraderie go?


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