Poops!... I Did It Again!
Oh my god, the most embarrassing experience of my life happened last week!

The whole affair started out well enough. My phone rings at four, while I'm inspecting the newest baubles and clothes at Henri Bendel on 5th Ave with my girlfriend. Still in the pair of Paper Denim jeans that I was trying on, I answer. There's no time to finish buttoning the shirt. The voice on the other end of the line has a slight European accent, and I've never heard it before.

He introduces himself as a friend of one of my clients and tells me that he'll fly into the city a couple days later. He wants to schedule a 3-hour session that will include dinner. I happily agree - now my jeans and earrings are paid for - and take his cell phone number so that we can finalize the details later.

I arrive at the Soho Grand Hotel promptly at 6PM because I hate waiting for other people who are late and thus try my best to be on time when meeting clients. I find M sitting in the Grand Bar. Although we'd never met before, M provided me with a very good description - how many men still wear bowties? After sipping a cosmo and making small talk about his favorite places in New York, we walk to a small Italian restaurant in Soho and return to his elegantly appointed room.

M pleasantly surprises me upon our return with a chilled bottle of champagne and a single rose. That's when my problems begin.

While drinking the champagne and cozying up on the couch, I feel a slow buildup of gas in my stomach. I try my best to suppress it.

Earlier in the day, my friends and I ate lunch at an Indian restaurant. We all love curry and chicken tikka masala, but I usually eat the milder versions. Today, my friends convince me to try them with more spices. Although quite challenging, the spices add a nice kick to the food. Now, those spices are coming back with a vengeance.

I feel the pressure continue to build, clench my butt and silently pray that it will just go away, but all of those hours working out my butt at the Equinox are useless as the pressure gets stronger. Thoughts of escape crowd out all other thoughts. I can't focus on anything else and instead excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up.

Over the toilet, I peel off my stockings, hike up my mini skirt, drop my thong and pull my cheeks apart to minimize any sound. Thankfully, my body silently releases the gases. Relief at last!

While I was busy, M had turned down the lights, lit several candles and started playing a quiet jazz CD. Normally, this atmosphere would put me right in the mood. I'm still tense from the little bathroom run though. M senses my tenseness and massages my neck and back to relieve the pressure.

Then it suddenly strikes again, but I have no time to run to the bathroom. A small fart escapes from my body with a low hiss. M doesn't hear the hiss but grimaces when the cloud of noxious odors hits his nose. Mortified, I flee to the bathroom and return to the toilet.

This time, I'm not just releasing gas. Rather, I'm now suffering from a real case of the runs and it burns my ass on the way out because of those damn spices! In a vain attempt to conceal the toilet splashing, I perform a couple courtesy flushes.

Complete buzzkill.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the lights are on, the candles are no longer burning and the room is silent. Red-faced and flustered, I let M know that we should probably continue some other time. He agrees and I retreat to my apartment in a taxi.

I hope that M didn't use the bathroom for some time. The toilet may have been clean when I left, but the whole bathroom reeked!

Note to self: never ever eat Indian food before a date...