I entered the mall with the intention of buying a few things, clicking my heels confidently as if the runway were mine. The air conditioning caressed my skin, and I felt like a goddess ready to sweep through the windows… until my stomach decided to put on its own show.
First, a subtle twist; then, a growl so loud that a woman turned to look at me as if a tiger had growled. I smiled flirtatiously, finding nothing was happening, while an epic battle was raging inside me.

I tightened my grip on my waist, arching my back as if posing, but the truth was, the “posture” was a desperate attempt to contain the urge. I walked quickly, with forced elegance, crossing the aisle of lingerie stores. Some men looked at me, thinking my haste was flirtatious, and I almost laughed at the misunderstanding: if only they knew my sensual sway was a pure survival strategy…

Suddenly, I saw the life-saving sign: Restrooms. I ran like a model late for her final show, casting intense glances to hide my panic. I walked in, closed the door, and sat down with a sigh that mixed pleasure and relief. Finally, I was able to deliver a diarrhea enema without resistance, and it was so easy to let go of the burden that I sat in silence for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of lightness.

As I left, head held high, I thought, “No one has to know… everyone will think I just came to touch up my lipstick.”

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