Just say No: To Garlic !! Oh yeah...and also Easter Decorations

I haven't been to one of those "home parties" for years.

You know the kind(s) I mean: those Tupperware parties, candle parties, home interior parties, etc.

I decided years ago that the things they sell at those parties are usually way over-priced, they are things I really don't need and they prey on the fact that you are at a friend's house and so you are obligated to buy stuff (and you do). (And regret it later).

So, after a hiatus of not going to these type of parties for years, I had a moment of weakness when a dear friend I hadn't seen in a while asked me to attend a party where they sell foods.
(I won't name the kind of party, but you probably have gone to one. It is where they pass around different samples of foods for you to taste and then you can order the food products that you tasted at the end of the party).

So, against my better judgement, I said yes, I will attend.

I get there on time.

I look around.

I know no one other than the hostess and one other woman in a room of about twenty-five senior-aged women.

The hostess's house is decorated to the hilt with Easter decorations. I mean, everywhere you look. To the point of being ridiculous.

There are cute bunnies in the foyer. There are cute bunny candles on every end table.

The salt and pepper shakers are chicks and eggs.

She has dainty pastel dishes full of chocolate easter candies on every table.

I begin to wonder if the Hostess is wearing Easter underwear.

The plates and cups are all Easter-themed.

I introduce myself and do some small talk with a few of the ladies there.

A few ladies are chatting (that know each other) but other than that, it is quiet.

Very quiet. (Which will be an element which will have more importance in what is to come in my story).

I sit down in the only seat available: in the middle of the circle, squished in on a couch with two other women.

I place my Diet Coke on the Bunny coaster on the end table next to me, right next to the Easter Egg tree dripping in hanging Easter eggs.

The Seller starts the party and begins to hand out Bunny plates of things to taste.

Several plates of things get passed around the circle, one right after the other.

Several of them are seasoned with garlic.

At this point, I should tell you that garlic and I have a bad relationship/history.

I like it.

It does not like me.

The best way to explain it is that you could synchronize your watches and if I have ingested any form of garlic: I will be heading for the nearest toilet exactly within 22 minutes of having had it.
Literally 22 minutes. Count them. 22 minutes.

Unfortunately, the presentation is now 25 minutes long.

My stomach lurches and begins to rumble.

Loudly.

Out of politeness, no one says anything about hearing it.

I see no sideways glances.

But, I know everyone there hears it. (I told you it was quiet in the room!)

Large beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead.

The Seller announces that she is done with the main entree presentation (Thank God! I say to myself) when she also proclaims:
"And now, ladies, wait until you taste these desserts!"

I change positions on the couch, clenching all my rectal abdominal muscles possible.

I know the outcome is inevitable.

I am praying that I can hold back the forces for just ten more minutes.

I am afraid to breathe.

The Seller passes around 4 more plates of pound cake with decadent fudge sauces and caramel drizzles.

The ladies next to me on the couch say to me: "Don't you want to try these, honey? They look so scrumptous".

I blurt out (in Lamaze-type half breaths): "No thanks, I am just too full (stomach rumbling louder now) from the other good stuff that we sampled!".

I look around the room in a panic for the shortest escape, for the For-the-Love-of-God-let-me-out-of-here most direct route to the hallway, where I know the shit-can bathroom is.

The Seller finally announces that this is the last plate Thank you, Jesus she is sending around the tasting circle.

I pass it to my left and as soon as the lady takes it out of my hands, I stand up, praying that I don't shit my pants all hell doesn't let loose right there on her cream colored satin couch and beige carpet.

I literally run down her hall and into the bathroom.

I barely get unzipped and make it on time to the toilet.

I know I must be as quiet as possible doing my business, because I can hear the ladies in the other room clearly--talking as they filled out their order blanks by now.

I turn the water on full blast to try and disguise shatting full blast what is the entire contents of my stomach (including the contents of all ten miles of of my guts intestines) emptying.

I flush the toilet, clean up as best as possible, and finally stand up and zip my pants.

At which point, the pressure immediately occurs again.

I hurriedly unzip my pants, sit down again, and it occurs all over again.

I do this three frickin' times.

By now, there is a line outside the bathroom of other ladies wanting to use the facilities.
They are probably thinking I am a bulemic and vomiting up all the food from the party. At least, that is what I hoped. That would be a hell of a lot better than them knowing the real truth.

I am now panicking and wondering how to camoflouge odors that I cannot even describe (nor do you want me to).

There are only two delicate hand towels laying on the counter. Pastel (of course!) with (what else?): bunnies on them.

Right next to the Easter egg hand soap container.

Oh, and next to the bunny candles.

I clean my hands for several minutes, to make sure I am clean, thus practically wrecking saturating one of the little Easter towels with water and God-knows-what-other-residue.

I spray the entire room with some kind of sickening lavender aerosol room deodorizer, making sure there is no trace of stench evidence left in or around the toilet.

I open the bathroom door, and to my relief there is no one waiting now.
I believe someone had directed them into the master bedroom's bathroom instead.

Relieved, I return to the main room and, without giving anyone much eye contact, hastily filled out my order for some over-priced food items I didn't need in the first place .

I hug the hostess goodbye, thank her for inviting me, make some lame excuse about needing to drive home before it got too dark and headed out of her house.

We live 25 minutes from her house.

I got home, slammed the car door and sprinted into our house.

My husband said: "Hi, hon...how was the party?"

To which I blurted out: "GARLIC!!! LOOK OUT!"

We've been married 36 years.

He understood.

He immediately moved over and I headed straight for the closest bathroom to the back door.

I almost didn't make it.

To make matters worse, when I looked at my order form this morning: I had ordered one wrong item. I wanted one thing, and in a haste to leave the party, I mistakenly ordered the item above it on the order blank.
Great!

Now, I will not only get several overpriced food items I didn't need, but one that I don't even like.

Well, at least the Hostess (my dear friend) will make some money from her party. (So she can go out and buy more Easter decorations with her profits).

God, I gotta go to more of these "at home" parties.

They are so much fun!!!