“You want a swirlee?” My friend asks as we pass by a frozen yogurt store. “Ha ha…just kidding.”
To most people this is not funny. I don’t find it too hilarious myself, but it does spark a chuckle when I remember what happened…
I’d been sick for a while now, but thought I was getting better seeing how I only coughed 15 to 20 times the last hour, I thought I would reward myself with something sweet. Chocolate is usually my go-to celebration, but I figured I’d be healthy and go for some swirlee frozen yogurt.
So I headed to The Americana. For those of you from Los Angeles, it’s similar to The Grove except it’s in Glendale with the same fancy smancy Gucci and Prada people. For those of you who aren’t…it’s an open air shopping, dining, and entertaining piazza with cobblestone pathways, grassy knolls, bronze statues, and water fountains. Totally not a hangout for a Sporty Spice like myself, but figured they’d have some tasty treats.
I noticed a Pinkberry Store and thought aha! It was meant to be, and even though I was wearing a track suit (looking like Run DMC) I thought I could still fit in with the high-life Gucci, Prada, Coach people. So I ordered a kid’s size with granola, coconut, and melon. I figured I would walk back to my car and eat it instead of staying there. I probably enjoyed three or four spoonfuls before it happened…
As I approached the intersection something happened where I felt I couldn’t breathe…I was gasping for air, like those people in JAWS when they’re going down and they’re drowning but I was on land and there was no shark.
I guess the coconut or granola went down the wrong pipe or something. I was gasping for what felt like forever, before I signaled to the lady standing near me “hey…I think I’m choking over here can you smack the shit out of my back for a minute?” I thought it was a pretty universal signal seeing how I was gasping for air, waving my arms, and pointing to my back…she gave me the tap-tap-tap.
Duuuuuuuude! Con ganas man!
I guess some Latino teenager and his girlfriend noticed that: A) I was gasping, clinging to the crosswalk pole and my life, and B) the older white lady didn’t have enough umph in her non Gucci whacking hand, that he stepped in and began smacking my back. I started coughing and something came loose and I finally started to get some air.
“Wow are you O.K.?” He asked. “You gave us a scare there?”
I waved my hand and smiled as I contined coughing.
“Thanks,” I said hoarsely. “I really appreciate it. Thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah I’m sure I just need a minute.”
And so I kept coughing.
The minute wasn’t really to gain my composure or thank God or anything. It was about the urine. Did you know that when you cough that hard you can actually pee in your pants. Yeah…urine. I didn’t think I would be peeing in my pants until I was 70-something. But apparently I did…in broad day light. There I was at the Americana corner among Prada, Coach, and Gucci people getting the crap smacked out of me because a Pinkberry topping went down the wrong way and as I started getting air, warm urine drizzled down the inside of my legs. I guess it would have been O.K. if the pants were black or dark blue or even if I was wearing jeans, but no…. there I was with a pinche sky blue track suit where if a Macy’s perfume lady spritzes you, it looks like you were on Splash Mountain…So there I was…toda miada for the whole Armenian and White population to see. What could I do?
I crossed the street in my miados–my urine stained pants which were not so warm anymore– and walked back to my car. I figured only something like this could happen to me when I actually had an hour to myself…my “alone time” away from the kids. It’s amusing being the Guat sometimes, and others…well…
Note to self….watch out for those Pinkberry toppings. If you’re a nerd like me, you’ll probably need someone close by to smack the crap out of you.