Horror Story

Just imagine you’re alone in a public washroom. You sit. You do your business. The flourescent lights slightly flicker. You hear the dripping of the faucet. Plink plink. Plink plink. It’s cold. The air is stagnant. You hear the creek of a stall door. “Hello…??” you quietly whimper. Nothing. It creeks again. The hum of the vents seems to whisper your name. Shaking in fear, you wipe, zip, and burst out of the stall. You may or may not wash your hands (because, c’mon, is it really always necessary?*) and race to get out the door.

*It is? Oh.

But at that exact moment, someone else is coming in.

So this is how you LITERALLY* react:

*I might not know what “literally” means.

Because

of course,

that someone

coming into the washroom

is me.
.

Scary, I know.

This is how I’ve forced myself to imagine the chain of events that led to a university student GASPING so loudly and so aggressively in HORROR as I entered the washroom. She seriously jumped in the air. And she had to lean over to catch her breath.

I awkwardly laughed and said, “Am I that frightening?”

She mumbled something incoherent insisting it wasn’t me and that she was just startled as she scurried out the door.

I went straight to the mirror.

I will continue to picture the above scenario to convince myself that THE SIGHT OF ME wasn’t the reason for her reaction.

Also, I might wear more makeup.

theVERYsinglegirl

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11 comments

  1. lillianccc

    Maybe she was doing or just about to do something illegal (or morally wrong… whatever floats your boat) when you walked in. I’d imagine the scenario that way to make myself feel better. 😉

  2. Pingback: Reading Digest: How about some Milhouse Edition | Dead Homer Society

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