Let Me Tell You About Sara
Sara was a neighbor and friend during my late tween and early adolescent years. Her father died when she was very small so she was raised by her mother, whose war-veteran "gentleman friend" was named Chet. Chet had shrapnel scars on his scalp and a glass eye that he would pop out and show us if we begged. Sara also had an in-ground swimming pool. She was a talented athlete who played every sport they would allow girls to play and ended up being the top golfer on the high school women's golf team. She also came up with the idea of applying lip gloss as eyeshadow 20 years before the fashion stylists would discover it. I envied her.
But like all golden girls, Sara had a fatal flaw: she was incontinent.
Every time someone made her laugh, Sara wet her pants. The first time I saw her do this, we were golfing together. We were probably 11 years old. She was trying to show me how to putt. I responded by hacking up countless divots of turf. The putting green looked like an adolescent Jolly Green Giant in need of Accutane. Sara started giggling, then laughing out loud, then "Oh no!"ing -- she'd wet her pants. Not a little either -- a whole bladderful. I haven't attempted to golf since.
My favorite incontinence story involving Sara took place during a movie viewing. The Wyandotte Theater showed second-run movies for a buck, which was cheap even in 1981. Sara and I would ride our bikes across the north-end bridge (we lived on an island) and load up on McDonald's, Faygo Redpop and Rock&Rye (Detroit-area soda, a.k.a., pop), and candy before heading to the theater to see the latest (well, almost latest) flick. Tall, jocky Sara could put away two Big Macs, large fries, and a hefty load of candy without blinking an eye. (McDonald's was a big deal for us because there were no fast food restaurants on our island, so when we were lucky enough to go there we ate all we could.)
This particular day was cold and blustery. We were freezing by the time we got to McDonald's, so we ate more than usual: Sara had two large fries with her two Big Macs. Then we went to 7-Eleven and stocked up on candy and Rock&Rye. The warmth of the theater was welcome after the chill bike ride.
I don't remember the movie, but I do remember where we sat: about 10 rows from the front, left of center. There was a grown-up couple directly in front of us. As preadolescents are wont to do in the presence of shushing adults, we started poking each other and giggling. Sara took a big swig of Rock&Rye and belched -- LOUDLY. I laughed out loud in spite of the irritated glances backward. I've never been able to belch on demand so I asked her to do it again.
The next series of events happened in slow motion. Sara took a huge swig of the blood-colored liquid. Just as she was swallowing, I choked out a laugh in anticipation of the coming belch. Sara responded with a laugh of her own, but the timing was off: she hadn't swallowed yet, so her body revolted. In an instant she had vomited a full bottle of Rock&Rye, two Big Macs, two large fries, and assorted candy all over her lap, into her open purse (which was on her lap), down the back of the seat in front of her, into her jacket sleeves, and down the legs of her jeans, right into her shoes. Need I say that she simultaneously wet her pants? Oh yes, she most certainly did. Oh, and some of the vomit came out her nose. The only part of her that didn't eject fluid was, I believe, her ears -- though I could be wrong.
I bolted to the restroom in horror and ran back as quickly as I could with two large handfuls of paper towels. The couple sitting in front of us had vanished. Six rows back from Sara, I could smell the vomit. Oh, this was bad.
I fully expected to find her crying, and was surprised and relieved to find her laughing instead. I used the towels to clean as much as I could off the back of the seat, the floor, and Sara's seat (theater seats were cloth back then -- can you blame theaters everywhere for switching to naugahyde?), then rushed Sara to the bathroom. We spent the next half hour alternately laughing and rinsing vomit off her clothes. We still had a long, cold bike ride ahead of us; Sara, soaked from shoulders to toes, handled it with aplomb. I haven't seen her for 20 years, but when I picture her, I picture her laughing.
Whoever had to clean that theater after the show, though -- I bet he has his own story, and it doesn't involve laughter.
But like all golden girls, Sara had a fatal flaw: she was incontinent.
Every time someone made her laugh, Sara wet her pants. The first time I saw her do this, we were golfing together. We were probably 11 years old. She was trying to show me how to putt. I responded by hacking up countless divots of turf. The putting green looked like an adolescent Jolly Green Giant in need of Accutane. Sara started giggling, then laughing out loud, then "Oh no!"ing -- she'd wet her pants. Not a little either -- a whole bladderful. I haven't attempted to golf since.
My favorite incontinence story involving Sara took place during a movie viewing. The Wyandotte Theater showed second-run movies for a buck, which was cheap even in 1981. Sara and I would ride our bikes across the north-end bridge (we lived on an island) and load up on McDonald's, Faygo Redpop and Rock&Rye (Detroit-area soda, a.k.a., pop), and candy before heading to the theater to see the latest (well, almost latest) flick. Tall, jocky Sara could put away two Big Macs, large fries, and a hefty load of candy without blinking an eye. (McDonald's was a big deal for us because there were no fast food restaurants on our island, so when we were lucky enough to go there we ate all we could.)
This particular day was cold and blustery. We were freezing by the time we got to McDonald's, so we ate more than usual: Sara had two large fries with her two Big Macs. Then we went to 7-Eleven and stocked up on candy and Rock&Rye. The warmth of the theater was welcome after the chill bike ride.
I don't remember the movie, but I do remember where we sat: about 10 rows from the front, left of center. There was a grown-up couple directly in front of us. As preadolescents are wont to do in the presence of shushing adults, we started poking each other and giggling. Sara took a big swig of Rock&Rye and belched -- LOUDLY. I laughed out loud in spite of the irritated glances backward. I've never been able to belch on demand so I asked her to do it again.
The next series of events happened in slow motion. Sara took a huge swig of the blood-colored liquid. Just as she was swallowing, I choked out a laugh in anticipation of the coming belch. Sara responded with a laugh of her own, but the timing was off: she hadn't swallowed yet, so her body revolted. In an instant she had vomited a full bottle of Rock&Rye, two Big Macs, two large fries, and assorted candy all over her lap, into her open purse (which was on her lap), down the back of the seat in front of her, into her jacket sleeves, and down the legs of her jeans, right into her shoes. Need I say that she simultaneously wet her pants? Oh yes, she most certainly did. Oh, and some of the vomit came out her nose. The only part of her that didn't eject fluid was, I believe, her ears -- though I could be wrong.
I bolted to the restroom in horror and ran back as quickly as I could with two large handfuls of paper towels. The couple sitting in front of us had vanished. Six rows back from Sara, I could smell the vomit. Oh, this was bad.
I fully expected to find her crying, and was surprised and relieved to find her laughing instead. I used the towels to clean as much as I could off the back of the seat, the floor, and Sara's seat (theater seats were cloth back then -- can you blame theaters everywhere for switching to naugahyde?), then rushed Sara to the bathroom. We spent the next half hour alternately laughing and rinsing vomit off her clothes. We still had a long, cold bike ride ahead of us; Sara, soaked from shoulders to toes, handled it with aplomb. I haven't seen her for 20 years, but when I picture her, I picture her laughing.
Whoever had to clean that theater after the show, though -- I bet he has his own story, and it doesn't involve laughter.
posted by WinterWheat | 3:08 PM
6 Comments:
Sounds like the type of situation where a clear negative was turned into a humerous positive.
I am sure Sara still remembers this story well.
Have a good weekend, K.
KRIS is your water starting to leak? I can tell you are waiting for the big gush,& oh where will it be? Standing in front of CROWD?Or will it be polite and do it slowing at home over a towel. HAHA Sorry hon it never happened that way to me no.1 Doctor broke it and it hit him and the wall full blast. No.2 tricked me since I had no labour pains it was a moistness that made me go to the hospital that night . Thank God as I had him in less time than it has taken you to read this. So yes Kris I can see why you are thinking of your friend after all these years. A small but highly absorbant towel near you from now on might just be a good idea WINK*. And the days move closer ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ katie
Hilarious (yet gross) story. What a great friend you were to run to get towels and help clean everything. I would have been grossed out to a point of paralysis. I am not good with puke.
I hope Sara is able to find some relief with the advancements in medicine in the past few years.
How is the last trimester coming along K? I hope things are wonderful and you are feeling great!
Wishing you a happy, healthy, and joy filled delivery.
xo
Jen
Sense of humor = one of life's necessities!
Being able to laugh at yourself - even better!
Happy gestation : )
BWAH!
OMG. I nearly wet my own pants just reading this. I, too, pee when I laugh too hard. My best friend and I both do, and it's hilariously dangerous.
Rock&Rye, my god. Now you are the second person ever (that I know) who has invoked this "pop", the other being my dear MI friend Kathy (from Tecumseh). You seem to have a similar sense of humor too. Must be that crazy Detroit pop.
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