Originally written on October 12th, 2005…
The Worst Place to Hide Your Soup
Wally stared at the crotch of his Wrangler jeans, now deeply soaked through as if he had massively pissed himself. Onlookers stared at him with wide-eyes and captured smirks. Somewhere on the periphery, surely, someone was pointing: here was a man caught in the depths of what could only be one of his most embarrassing moments. Others, the pointers thought, would want to see his discomfiture — this most unsavory of pickles — and, seeking to displace their own insecurities, these fine gawkers were more than happy to direct the rest who stood in need of a sordid chuckle.
Wally looked about, unable to gain enough composure to put words to the situation. His mind raced; his cheeks rapidly flushed. He again turned his gaze crotchward, and thought to himself, Well that was the worst place to hide my soup.
Via my extinct blog “Laughing Is Like Cancer….”