The Confessional


I had just moved to a new school, just turned 12 years old and the latter part of my 6th year in school was coming to a close. I would be graduating into Junior High soon, spending all summer anticipating all the older boys I’d meet who were in, like, Grade 8 and, like, Grade 9.

One of the popular girls invited me to a party she was having that Saturday night. I contained myself and cooly replied with a “Yeah, ok.” rsvp of sorts. When I got home that evening, I jumped up and down and totally freaked out all over the place. The rest of that week, I spent hours going through my closet and must have applied my makeup 25 different times just to get it right.

The day of the party came and I carefully dressed in my chosen wardrobe: white Garfield sweatshirt, white demin mini skirt, white socks and white flat shoes. When I got to the main event, her parents invited me to come downstairs where the rest of the kids were. We were to have popcorn and watch a movie and play a few games. Eventually, the parents got bored and went upstairs. That’s when the fun really started.

Someone pulled out a bottle. We all sat down in a circle. If it pointed to you, the spinner and you had to go kiss in the closet for a full minute OR you had to kiss right there in front of EVERYONE. The exception was, for example, if you were a girl and you spun it to another girl, you got to choose a boy to kiss her.

The popular girl spun first. It landed pointing to The Second Cutest Boy in the school. We all whooped and hollared, quietly as not to arouse suspicion from our chaperones. They went into the closet for a full minute, returning with faces flushed. The Second Cutest Boy in the school spun next. It landed in front of The Cutest Boy in school.

This is where everything is slow motioned down ultimately leading to the MOST EMBARASSING MOMENT OF MY LIFE.

The Second Cutest Boy chose me to kiss The Cutest Boy. In the closet, for a whole minute, or in front of everyone. I had never been kissed before. What would I choose? To have my first kiss in front of everyone, or have my first kiss last 60 seconds.

I chose to be brave and daring. I looked over at him. He was sitting on the other side of the circle, smirking because he wanted to kiss me too. I was in my mini-skirt, you see, and was demurely trying to keep my legs closed while sitting on the floor. No small feat, if you’ve ever tried it. So, I put my hands down on either side of me, leaned forward to get myself up on my hands and knees so I could reach myself all the way across the circle to his lips which were already puckering up.

The kiss was short and comical at best. But I did it. I kissed a boy in front of everyone.

The goofy grin on my face made everyone laugh. I started laughing too.

As I leaned back to sit back down, I farted.

Everyone shut up. Time stopped for me but I couldn’t, for the life of me, make it turn back. Then everyone laughed again, but they laughed AT me.

I fled the basement. I fled the house. I fled the memory of my first kiss and the kiss with The Cutest Boy.

I was sick devastated on Monday and didn’t go to school. I was horrified that my body had betrayed me during such a crucial moment of my life. You can say now that I have an aversion to bodily noises that COME FROM THE ASS.

Now, I realize this is no way to live a life. Thus, the confession: People fart. I fart. Everyone farts. But I do it in private, out of earshot, away from noses that might be offended.

Some people are afraid of farts, like me. Some people are proud of farts, like my ex-boyfriend. Some people generally don’t care about farts.

I try to laugh it off when someone farts. I try to make a joke of it. I try to ignore it. But when the fart happens in my very personal space, like THE BED, I tend to get upset. And I pretend to be upset, even after the anger has subsided and I realize just how stupid I was to be upset in the first place. But it irks me, you know. I don’t fart in the bed which you sleep in. Why should you feel like you have to fart in the bed that I sleep in?

Ok, now I can laugh.

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  1. Oh man, that is horrible!

    (Simon always threatens to “dutch oven” the cat when she’s under the covers. Now, that’s just mean.)

  2. This made me laugh out loud. This new, non-cryptic phase? I like it. 🙂

  3. omg, how awful. I cringe for you. At least you can look back on it now and laugh, right?

  4. I, too, laughed out loud 🙂

  5. The story is laughable now, yes. But I’m still freaked out about others farting in my personal space. Scarred for life, I suppose.

  6. Stuff like that used to bug me as well; then I went to India and completely lost all shame when I did things like fall off a bus and puke in front of a whole group of school children (I had dysentery). And, just when I thought I couldn’t possibly experience anything worse I gave birth. Birth is perhaps one of the messiest and most humiliating experiences ever. It’s a good thing that Chris is an EMT; he’s used to blood, guts and fecal matter. Though I managed to surprise him when I did a power puke across the room ala the Exorcist (he knew to duck, however).

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