THE Incident.

The time has come.

Deep breaths. (Not under the bubbles, as that could be potentially dangerous)

Telling this bubble time story is not an easy task for me. To say that I embarass easily is an understatement. Tell a boy I like him. Put a sign on my back. Yell something offensive and pretend like it came from me. These things may seem like harmless enough jokes- but within moments I am guaranteed to turn bright red, sputter, and potentially run away and/or cry.
Keep that in mind as I tell you about the forthcoming event, the one that I only refer to as - The Incident. It was the most embarassing moment of my childhood and life thus far. It took me two years (at least) to be able to even discuss it without weeping. I jest not. I can not think of The Incident to this day without a shudder and a chill.
I tell you now, beacuse anything after Caroline's story about crapping in a cup seems like childplay, and I feel like maybe the time has come to put this AromaTherapy to the test and make public this story which I have kept like a deep dark secret for so long.

And so we begin. Ladies, I may need you to hold my hand. I apologize for the wrinkles. I've been in here awhile, prepping.

(insert dramatic music and a fog machine)

The year is 1997. I am in seventh grade. It is a very humid and hot day although Fall has just begun.
Let me paint you a picture of adolescent Meredith - she wears glasses (not the crazy spray painted ones, at this point I had graduated to more normal looking silver ones), she is chubby, very shy and considerably awkward. She longs desperately to fit in, but hasn't quite found her niche. She is right in the thick of her middle school identity crisis and has recently made the switch from wearing her dads giant clothes, listening to A LOT of Bush (and I mean a lot) and trying to fit in with the "skater" crowd to wearing Abercrombie & Fitch, listening to top 40, joining the swim team, and trying to be popular.
So, this Meredith is sitting in her seventh grade pre-algebra class on this hot Fall day, the fan is whirring and my teacher, Mr. Holt, is droning on about integers and variables and blah blah who cares numbers blah blah doesn't math suck?
I feel a tickle in my nose, and then before I even know what has happened, The Incident has occurred. The Laughter begins. Middle school as I know it, is forever altered.
What has happened in that split second is something unaffectionately referred to as a Snart.
Now, some of you may be familiar with snarts. but in honor of Mr. Holt, let me put explain it to you in the form of an equation.

Sneeze + Fart = Snart

So basically, I sneezed and involunatrily and simultaneously, let a loud one rip.
(I think I am having post traumatic stress writing this part down, I have the shakes, the sweats, you name it. )

So, of course, as to be expected, the Snart was followed by loud peals of laughter from everyone in the class. I realize what has happened, that the laughter is directed at me, and I freeze. Oh God. No. Please, no. Mr. Holt says "Class, Class - lets be adults here" and the laughter slowly dies down to some collective giggling and pointing. There is no denying this or pinning it on someone else (Miriam, you lucky bitch). In this scenario, I am the obvious offender.
I am so horrified and appalled, that before I know it I am crying, nay- bawling. As if I hadn't already made enough of a scene, I am weeping and shaking loudly. Two of my best friends are in this class, and seeing the need to save me, they come to my side and escort me out of class.
They comfort me and assure me that nobody will even remember, but I know that this is far from the truth - and that the legend of Meredith the Snarter will be a long told tale by 3PM.
I skip my classes and hide and cry in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

Luckily (?), this happend on a Friday, so I had the weekend to get my head together.
I feign sick Monday and Tuesday, and Wednesday comes. It is time to go back to school and to face my worst fears. I keep my head low, and ignore everyone I see. I know the rumors have spread, and all of my attempts to become popular have been halted by this 2 seconds of disgrace. The worst of it is knowing that Dan Brown, my biggest middle school crush, knows - and he will now never return my affections. For who could love a Snarter? No one, thats who.
It comes time to return to PreAlgebra. (drumroll?)
I walk in, try not to look at anyone, and sit down. My teacher gives me a sympathetic nod and smile. I take some deep breaths and think 'alright, this could be ok after all - its been several days - maybe its old news, everyone has forgotten, we can all just move on and pretend like this never happened.'
The thought comes a moment too soon. In perfect timing, this little punkass kid who sat next to me whose name was David Pfefferle (what a stupid name, look at all those Fs) goes, extremely loudly, "HEY DID YOU FART ON FRIDAY?"
I startle. I look at him and say "Um, No."
He snorts.
Everyone stares. I am saying to myself "be strong meredith. be strong." I wipe away a single tear and say assertively "I think class is starting. Please leave me alone."
And that is really the end of the story.
Dan Brown never did love me back - but hey, he's weird now. And I think he got someone pregnant. So PHEW. Maybe the snart saved my life?
Nobody made fun of me that badly to my face, and by the end of 8th grade I was sitting at the popular kids' lunch table. I would say that is Triumph over the Snart!
I have not since then snarted again in public - but everytime I sneeze I have a moment of terror.

Whewwwwww.

Sweet relief. I've done it- the story is out. I, who can't even say bad words or talk about body functions without giggling and blushing, have released the demon story.

Lets never discuss this again.