Who smelt it

I have made a couple of questionable decisions in my day. I instantly regretted shoving a paper clip into an outlet, I probably should have skipped the day we covered the miracle of birth in health, and I never should have attempted to hatch a chicken from a store bought egg. None of these decisions however, measure up to the horrific decision to go to IHOP at 2 am.

In my defense, I had been craving eggs Benedict like a pregnant woman craves Watermelon and peanut brittle. I would salivate at the thought, dream about it at night, pray about it in the morning, and seriously considered taking it to a chapel in Vegas. In my world, I already had the baggy biceps and the cankles of a pregnant woman, so naturally I felt as though my indulgence could be justified.

IHOP at two am is where people come after Walmart kicks them out for loitering. This is where people from all aspects of life come together and bond over eggs that pour out of a carton. There are the frat boys with hangovers, the girls who think Halloween is a year long event, road hog Bruce and his mistress rolling up on his Harley, and of course, lunatic fake pregnant ladies jonesing for their eggs Benedict fix. I went, I winced, I left.

To all of my fellow eggs Benedict lovers, beware of the IHOP eggs Benedict. It is mediocre at best and will most likely give you gas you wouldn't believe. The kind that makes you want to build a bomb shelter for the safety of your neighbors, the kind that would spark the III World War. That leave you friendless and without hope. The kind you shouldn't blog about... Oops.

Hypothetically, if you were to go to the gym on a Saturday morning after a Friday night IHOP excursion, and you just happen to ride the treadmill with exactly one other soul, you might not think that letting one slip would be such a bad thing. You might even think it would be silent and smell of cotton candy and go unnoticed if not welcomed by the others trying to workout in peace. Let me warn you: you would be wrong. If this hypothetical situation were to hypothetically come about, I would have to predict that letting flatulence slip, would result in a silent (one point for the home team) but deadly toot. In fact, if smell had a color, your aura would be lime green. It would eventually creep to the other soul on the treadmill (trying to tone his muscular thighs in peace), and an unsuspecting man would walk behind your machine directly following the infraction. The only logical next step would be to mimic your neighbors and start looking around the room with an equally disgusted look on your face trying to find out who delt it (oh so smooth). You would then exit the gym after suspicions wore off, with your head hung in shame and having brought adequate dishonor upon your family. You would then write a blog about the embarrassment and publicly shame your parents... Again.

All hypothetical of course,

Jessica