that wasn’t a fart.

Okay, listen.

I’m very good at embarrassing myself. Olympic level good. I’ve learned to laugh at myself because the shame was getting to be too much for my level of expertise. Can’t be normal? Laugh at yourself. I’m really funny, guys.

Back at the beginning of 2018, my life essentially fell apart. It just crumbled right before my eyes. My grandma died two days before my birthday. My cat started getting sicker and sicker. My upstairs neighbours were getting louder and louder. School became a burden overnight, out of nowhere. My anxiety was at an all-time high. It was shit.

Speaking of shit, I got some sort of flu in the middle of all of this. My poor boss was just like “Are you okay?” and I said I was but that I had to call the vet about my cat.

I walked into the warehouse and hid between a stack of pallets. I called the vet and she told me that Bella, my cat, was slowly dying and that there wasn’t much they could do aside from cutting her lower jaw off. I had cried so much at this point that I didn’t really cry when she said this. Instead, I farted. I thought it was a fart, at least. But no. It was a shart. I shit my pants at work while hiding in the warehouse.

I ran to the bathroom, took off my thong, washed it in the sink, decided that a wet thong is worse than going commando, and threw out my underwear. I sat down at my desk, now commando and wondering what else was gonna come out of my butt. I left twenty minutes later.

The moral of this story is thongs can keep in a shart but using these is much better.

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