In the middle of an errand, I feel an urge to have a bowel movement. I ignore it, but, it’s later followed by a moderately painful cramp and some discomfort, which cease after a few seconds, and then I begin feeling urgently pressed. I have very poor rectum control, as has been documented in various separate incidences throughout my life, so I quickly decide to drop the errand, since time is limited, and rush home to drop the shit.
I hop onto the nearest motorbike, frantically patting the boda boda guy on the back, asking him to speed to the given destination. I can feel my sphincter muscles almost giving up, and I am gripped by anxiety as I’m certain that I’m about to have a violent bout of diarrhoea. I grimace and twist my waist a bit. I tell him to hurry up. I unzip my bag and start looking for the house keys beforehand, and I find them just as we get to the gate.
I get off the bike, careful not to let my legs part too far, just in case. Standing, I subtly shake my behind to encourage my rectum to stay put, as I look for the loose fifty shillings I’m sure was in my bag two seconds ago. Mercifully, the gate is not closed, and as I run in, a neighbour greets me, but in the panic and adrenaline filled run, I mistakenly blurt out an insult instead of an appropriate response. I don’t notice this until a few seconds later when I’m at my door, and the neighbour, who looks shocked and offended, is disappearing through the gate.
Of course, at the door, the urge has suddenly magnified and my colon is about to combust, and, conveniently, lock and key have conspired to frustrate me further. The key ‘refuses’ to enter the first few tries, and when it finally does, it ‘refuses’ to turn. I desperately try another key before going back to the first key, which can’t be arsed about doing its job. All this time, I am giving an outstanding breakdance performance, there, at my doorstep, in a bid to keep my body confused and delay the excretion process. I am sweating and almost crying because I I’m sure that I’ll diarrhoea on myself. Maybe it’s just in my head, but I swear I can feel something moist, squishy, and warm oozing out.
At last, after I sacrifice a relative that I hate to the gods of locks and keys, the door is open. I don’t even remove my shoes. No time to close the door. I don’t even check where I’m throwing the things I’m holding. I hear something break, but I don’t care. While dashing to the toilet, the hem of my skirt is already at my waist and I’m tugging at my underwear. I know it’s going to be war, I can feel it. I hurriedly sit on the toilet with a heavy smack, and just as I do, a loud fart escapes, and I instantly feel relieved. I wait, but that’s it.
That was it all along. Just gas.
I remain silently seated as I comprehend the deception I’ve gone through.
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