That moment when you're in the coolest hipster coffee house, full of cute lumber-sexual boys with cute man buns (...like the kind in your hair...obviously!), and girls with perfectly penciled-gelled-highlighted brows...
...and your intestines decide to explode.
This NEVER happens...!
(...except in kindergarten, like five times...and you actually crapped your ever loving pants in public.)
Most of my worldly possessions of any worth (You know...the ones with the partially eaten forbidden fruit inlaid on some portion of their exterior...), are strewn about the table...and are all fully functioning at the same time...it's a great day.
...until suddenly.
So you casually re-cross your legs, thinking it must have been a false alarm.
...and then do it again, because it obviously wasn't, but blue-flannel boy in the corner has been looking at your..computer(?) repeatedly for the last half hour, and you're not about to ask him to watch your things for you...
...and then you're like...
...FROCK it...I'm goingto$HIPmypants...
So you casually stand, as if your brand-name athleisure shoes were actually Jimmy Choos, and glide, giving blueflannelboy, and Timberland-ad-barista-man your best runway face, to the infernal-ever-loving-washroom...ardently hoping to God, (...because in this moment, you're certainly glad there's One to hope in...), that. You. Make. It. In. Time.
(Addendum: The mission was a success. All ships made it successfully into appropriate maritime boundaries and limits.)
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