Keeping the "Oh, Christ" in Christmas

I already told you how I'm way on top of my Christmas shopping this year. Not only that, but I'm more confident that people are not only going to like my gifts, but absolutely love them, than any other year past. This past weekend, with one week to go before Christmas, I just had one last quick trip to make to put the finishing touches on the gifts for a few of my family members.

I was in the city early on Sunday morning for a run and a Christmas breakfast with my Back on My Feet team. We were all wrapped up by 8 a.m., so I decided to take advantage of rising so disgustingly early on a Sunday to bang out the last items on the Christmas to-do list.

I merrily pranced into a nearby shopping center, a true Christmas shopper's delight with a TJ Maxx, Marshalls, Best Buy and Target all in one location. I knocked off a few things at the TJ Maxx and skipped over to Best Buy, still clad in my spandex pants, or as I lovingly refer to them, mah spandies. Now, I don't often ever go anywhere in public besides running in these pants, but I figured it was early enough in the morning that the chances of seeing many people who don't consider it perfectly fine to wear spandex pants in public were slim.

I was browsing the DVD selection when I felt a rumbling in my stomach. Oof. Way too much coffee at that greasy spoon diner. I headed over to the CDs. And that's when it hit me. I needed a bathroom. RULL BAD. I decided to power on though. Just a few more things and my Christmas shopping would be complete. Visions of shredded wrapping paper and delighted smiles filled my head. As I was fingering through the R's, it hit me again. Oh Jesus Christ. And then B called.

B: Hey where are you?

Me (barely above a whisper, focusing all of my concentration on my bladder): I'm at Best Buy.

B: Where?

Me: Best Buy.

B: Oh, great, since you're there, why don't you look to see if they have one of those cable box converter things for the blah blah blah blah blahbity bloop ... ?

At this point I can barely hear what he's saying. I've stopped listening almost completely. I've broken into a cold sweat staring at Ray Charles' face.

Me: I really can't. I don't have time. I need to get home.

B: Okay, but since you're there, why don't you just check?

Me: B, I gotta get out of here. I really have to go to the bathroom.

B: What?

Me: I've got to go to the bathroom.

B: Can you speak up? I can't hear you at all.

Me: I need to get out of here immediately. I really have to go to the bathroom.

B: What? Why? I still can't hear you.

Me: BECAUSE I'M GOING TO SHIT MY PANTS. I AM GOING TO SHIT. MY. PANTS.

The nearest employee looked up from the stack of iTunes gift cards and smiled at me. I threw my phone into my purse, grabbed a few CDs from the shelf in front of me and jogged to the cashier. I almost broke out in tears in the checkout line, hopping from foot to foot. I was an hour from home. There was no way I was going to make it. This shopping center was on the outskirts of the city. Where there even any restaurants that would be open this early near me? WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO?

And because I know you're all DYING to know, I'll tell you. I paid for my stuff, ran through the parking lot, threw my bags into my car without breaking stride, and made a beeline straight for the Target, which I figured had to have public restrooms. They have a Starbucks from crying out loud. They better have a loo. And they did. THANK YOU BABY JESUS AND YOUR WONDERFUL DAY OF BIRTH. My Christmas was saved. And so were my favorite pair of spandies.

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