I popped another pepto-bismal and chewed on the hard, pink, chalky tablets on my way to my improv show. The pink gunk stuck to my back teeth and I tried to pry it loose with my tongue as I walked down the busy sidewalk. Suddenly, the image of what I must look like as I comically try to wiggle nasty pepto from my teeth walking through midtown struck me as funny: so I started to laugh. And then, because I was laughing, I laughed harder, inhaled, and caught a piece of the pink anti-farting chalk in my throat which threw me into a foamy pink coughing fit.
I was an iPod head phone wearing, pink mouthed, laughing/hacking idiot walking down the street.
Once I calmed down a bit, I thought about making out with someone. What if I didn't tell them I had just chewed up some pepto because I was having major gas pains? Oh, and the really crucial detail I'm leaving out was that the gas pains were from the garlicky pizza I scarfed down before heading to the theatre. I'm pretty sure I had some mushroom still stuck in my teeth.
I was a make-out kisser's nightmare.
But, like, seriously, what if I didn't tell someone? I'd just hold my breath so they somehow wouldn't know. And, like, what if, for some reason, once I got to the theatre I drank a cup of red wine so my lips were stained? Oh, and I would have to spill some on my shirt, too! No problem! I do that all the time!
...Nah, no make-outs. I wouldn't even be able to enjoy it because I would probably be trying to concentrate on not farting.
These are the thoughts that filter into my subconscious, and, ultimately, to you.
I need a good date.
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