The "Zoomas"

Has anyone heard of these? These "zoomas"? I can only assume they mean poop. More specifically: severe, sudden, explosive diahhrea caused by the consumption of Mexican food. Sorry, folks, I did mention that poop could be a common topic of this here "blog". Let me explain more thoroughly. Make yourselves comfortable and put down the burritos.

Now what I am about to tell you just doesn't happen in real life. It happens to people on sitcoms. The girl who just ended a serious, long-term relationship had a date last night! Yay! See, that's what I do. I break up with people and I schedule a date immediately following aforementioned breakup. Though many will disagree, I believe this is an excellent tactic to overcome the depression following breakups. The classic "rebound" who, to all of us hopeful/desperate, "want-to-be-married-5-years-down-the-road" girls, could actually turn into a real relationship! That'll show the ex...Who needs him? Anyway.

So I'm looking forward to the date. Mind you, I returned from Mexico not long ago, and my stomach hasn't really been "right" since. A.k.a. my bowel movements have not been so much solid, I had the "runs," I've been pissing from my ass, etc. Get the picture? Sorry for the descriptive detail, but we've all suffered from this ailment. I'm not embarassed.

OK, maybe I am a little embarassed. So my date takes me to get some Mexican food. We're having a grand ole time, chatting it up, giggling...a typical first date "getting-to-know-you" session. Everything is going so great, he asks me to go get drinks afterwards. Wow, he must love me!!! Kidding, folks, but it was going well. So, we're driving along...and guess who feels a little rumbling in the tummy? Moi. Estoy malo.

I figure I have two choices: 1) go to the bar with my date, and excuse myself to the bathroom; or, 2) ask my date to take me home. The first choice was immediately eliminated. Anyone who knows me, knows I CANNOT "go" in public bathrooms. I don't care if they are private, or if my ass is about to explode, or someone is holding a gun to my head saying "You better shit in this public bathroom, or I will shoot you in the head." I just can't do it. Furthermore, I wasn't sure how long this process would take. What's more embarassing, saying "Take me home, I don't feel well" or returning from a 30-minute sebattical in the bar bathroom as my date waits in disgust? Choice 2 had to be it.

Does anyone know that feeling where you are about to get home and your body just knows it, and therefore you have to go really, really bad as you are pulling into your own driveway? That's how I felt on the way to the bar. I thought I handled the situation artfully. I said, "[Date], you're gonna think I'm an asshole, but I'm not feeling well. I think I have to go home. I just haven't been feeling normal since I got back from Mexico. Please don't take this as a reflection of our date. I had a great time."

He seemed slightly taken aback. Since I was freaking out, trying to concentrate on keeping my bowels from imploding, and fantacizing about my toilet, all's I heard from Date is something about "Zooma's" and "Sorry for the bumpy ride." Kiss on the cheek. Buh-bye.

Considering most guys think that girls don't poop, I'm not hearing from this guy ever again, am I?