emergency at the mall
I entered the mall with the intention of buying a few things, clicking my heels confidently as if the runway were mine. The air conditioning caressed my skin, and I felt like a goddess ready to ravage the storefronts until my stomach decided to put on its own show.
First, a subtle twist
then, a growl so loud that a woman turned to look at me as if a tiger had growled. I smiled flirtatiously, finding nothing was happening, while an epic battle was raging inside me.
I tightened my waist, arching my back as if posing, but the truth was, the posture was a desperate attempt to contain the urge. I walked quickly, with feigned elegance, crossing the aisle of lingerie stores. Some men looked at me, thinking my haste was flirtatious, and I almost laughed at the misunderstanding: if only they knew my sensual sway was a pure survival strategy.
Suddenly, I saw the savior sign for Restrooms. I ran like a model late for her final show, casting intense glances to hide my panic. I walked in, closed the door, and sat down with a sigh that mixed pleasure and relief. Finally, I was able to deliver a diarrhea enema without resistance, and it was so easy to let go of the burden that I sat there for a few seconds in silence, enjoying the feeling of lightness.
No one needs to know; everyone will think I just came to touch up my lipstick.
