Light on confidence and carrying way too many pounds for my comfort level, I went on Weight Watchers a while back. It’s funny how they say “Going on Weight Watchers” as if watching one’s weight is something that is either on or off. I don’t know about you, but I’m ALWAYS watching my weight, whether it’s going up or down. The company really should be called “I Hate Myself, so I’m Going to Eat a Shitload of Kale, Lose Weight, Then Gain It All Back Again.”

But I digress. This particular diet “worked” and once I lost those extra pounds, I felt like a f*cking rock star.
I walked the streets of New York with my head held high, checking myself out in every possible reflective surface, wondering if anyone could hear my inner voice yelling “damn, I look good!” I even bought myself a brand new mini-dress and some strappy heels to wear on an upcoming trip to Disney World.

When we got there, one of the first things everyone wanted to do was visit a water park. So, I donned my brand new slinky black swimsuit, some waterproof mascara, and my courage. Those big slides frighten the hell out of me.

From the top of the “Slush Gusher,” the first hill looked downright terrifying. There were no slick mats or inner tubes to aid a person as they careened downward, just body and slide. My friends and family were done and waiting at the bottom to congratulate me.

It was finally my turn. My heart raced, but I was ready. I took my position lying down. The person-in-charge was yelling and gesturing wildly at me, “Give the figs to Heather!” he said. Or, at least that is what it sounded like to me above the cacophony of impatient children and swirling water.

I closed my eyes and scooted forward until gravity took hold and I was off and screaming like I was in a horror movie. About half way down, I relaxed into it and thought “Hell yeah, this is awesome!” But, somewhere near the bottom it became painfully clear what the person-in-charge had actually said: “Keep your legs together!”

I’d never even heard of a high colonic, but I’m pretty sure I got the next worse thing somewhere near the end as I raced confidently down, legs wide open. Upon landing, it took everything in my power to hide the pain and shock of getting a tidal wave of cold water rapidly shoved up my ass. But I did and they had no idea.

Soon the pain went away and day flowed into evening. I found my confidence again and slipped into my fancy new dress and heels for a night of dinner and dancing. As we were walking across the sprawling parking lot, a woman stopped and complimented me on my hair. “I like your shoes too,” she added.
I was on top of the world! On top of the world, and a little flatulent.

I slowed down, motioning for everyone to go ahead of me so I could fiddle with my shoe. This was a lie, as I just really needed to toot my own horn, so to speak. But, instead of the lone staccato sounds of my inner tuba, a whole symphony of fluid shot out of me, giving a whole new meaning to “Slush Gusher.”
My new found confidence was shattered. My first instinct was to run back to the hotel and hide under the bed.

But, I was determined not to let this… situation keep me from enjoying the night. I cleaned myself up, bought a spanking new pair of Mickey Mouse undies, and danced the night away.
Because, you know what? Shit happens. Sometimes literally.


(This post originally ran on Pryvate Parts)

About the author: Lisa Shaw is not afraid to show her Pryvate Parts to anyone. She believes that no-bullshit truth-telling is the secret to happiness. She’s a parent through transracial adoption and dreams of inventing the perfect pair of underwear someday–the kind that never needs washing and stays out of her crack. If you want to feel a whole lot better about yourself, you can check out her antics at ScaryMommy, Huffington Post, Blunt Moms, and Love What Matters, or follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.


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