The Day My Front Bum Went Psycho

At one point I had an extraordinarily busy job. Not the regular, status conscious, kind of busy which is the new ‘good’ these days.  You know, when someone asks you how you are and you respond ‘busy’, automatically, as once you might have said ‘good’ or ‘well thanks.’?  Well, my job wasn’t that kind of busy.  It was not merely absorbing or thoroughly occupying for the 7-8 hours a day I spent at it.  It was all consuming.  There was never enough time.  I was either working or thinking about working if I was awake.  As my dreams would attest I was sometimes thinking about work even when I wasn’t awake.

I’m not saying this to big note myself.  I wasn’t more important because I was so flat out at work – it was just the way I rolled.  I’m telling you about it because there came a day when something happened which made me realise just what a parlous state I’d got myself into. From that day I resolved to change how I rolled, and to make time for other important things in my life.  This is what happened.

It started around 9:45am.  Unusually for me I had spent the first hour of my day sitting at my desk working through some email.  There were more than 500 unread messages. I had long since resigned myself to never being on top of this, no matter how many listicles about time management I consumed, hoping for some pearl of wisdom which would enable me to leave the office every day with only a handful of emails relating to work ‘in progress’ left in the inbox.  So I’d skimmed the most recent 50 or so, deleting a few, responding to the most urgent and marking as unread the ones I might get back to.

I left the office and headed to the first of a series of meetings which would take most of the rest of the day.  The meeting was in a building a couple of blocks away. As I walked, I felt an uncomfortable sensation ‘down there’.  Like maybe the beginning of a UTI or a yeast infection. ‘Bugger!’ I thought, ‘that’s all I need.’  There was no time to visit the bathroom on the way to the meeting, so further investigation would need to wait.  I hoped I’d not need to find time for a visit to the pharmacy or the GP.  Perhaps something could be done with yoghurt?

I managed a small, tight smile across the room as I took my seat at the meeting.  Sliding into the chair had confirmed my suspicion.  There really was something decidedly uncomfortable going on.  I would have to ignore it for the next hour at least.

The meeting ran overtime, making me late to my next engagement – a presentation to a group of senior executives.  I wasn’t the first on the agenda but it would look unprofessional if I missed my spot.  I hurried, uncomfortably, back to the main office building.  In the lift I suppressed the urge to stop and go to the toilet.  After a cup of tea in the last meeting I really needed to go, which was not helping my situation.  I arrived at the Board meeting as they were questioning the previous presenter, thankful now that I had not stopped and made myself late.

My presentation went off without a hitch.  It was well received and I was able to respond sensibly to all the questions asked of me.  I stayed until the end and was just about to bolt for the door as the Managing Director caught sight of me and headed across the room towards me.  I smiled brightly, wincing slightly as I took a step towards him. ‘I was hoping you could find time for a working lunch between now and our 2pm meeting.  I wanted to talk with you about the funding submission you made last week.’ This was the opportunity I’d been looking for. My team and I had slaved over the funding submission for weeks of long hours and weekends.  Sample data, feasibility, modelling – all the details were perfect.  It was my job to sell it to the MD.  I couldn’t miss this opportunity.  ‘Sure, let’s go.’

You’ll be thinking I could have excused myself to go to the bathroom?  Look, maybe you’re right.  But it just didn’t occur to me.  In the past I had waited weeks for 30 minutes with the MD, and here he was asking me for lunch to discuss my funding submission.  True, I was growing increasingly convinced I was suffering from a nasty infection in a place where the sun doesn’t shine, and experiencing a sensation I’d describe as raw discomfort as I walked to the café for lunch.  Despite this, as I sat across from the MD looking for something on the menu with an alkaline dressing, I felt there was no place I’d rather be.

I pitched for the funding over lunch and the MD made some very promising noises.  I rose from the table thinking the money was in the bag.  No time for a loo stop on the way to the next meeting – a crisis call with the Sydney office who were experiencing technological difficulties putting a lucrative contract at risk.  I had to be in the room.

It was nearly 4pm when we finally wrapped up the conference call.  There was no putting it off any longer.  A colleague suggested we grab a drink before heading back to the office but I had to decline.  By then I was beyond raw discomfort.  Convinced I’d have to make an appointment at the 24 hour clinic, I raced to the bathroom, locked myself in the cubicle and peeled down my stockings and skirt.  I pushed my underwear over my knees as I sank onto the toilet, bracing myself for the pain of urination. It didn’t come. A stream of liquid escaped me effortlessly and with only the normal sensation of relief.  Shocked, I picked up my underwear from between my legs and looked down to find I appeared to have been wearing my g-string back to front.  The thin, rope like part, which should have rested comfortably between my cheeks, had been chafing and pulling at the front!

I took off my shoes and skirt, hanging it from the hook on the back of the door with my bag.  I pulled off my stockings and g-string, turning the thong around and putting it right back on.  I stood up straight and wiggled.  No pain.  Nothing wrong with me!  Laughing, I re-dressed and left the bathroom, delighting at the feeling of comfort between my legs.

It hit me as I walked back to the office. This bizarre incident demonstrated that I had literally become absent minded.  My mind was elsewhere when dressing. It was elsewhere when driving to work and walking to the office.  It took actual pain for me to realise that something was wrong and even when that happened I’d pushed it out of my mind to concentrate on work.

What if there really had been something wrong with me?  What if there was chafing in other areas of my life that I was ignoring for the sake of work? I looked up and noticed the sun was shining.  I determined to skip the extra couple of hours in the office at the end of the day and strolled easily to the carpark.

When I got in the door at home I gave my partner a lingering kiss and hugged my kids, full of gratitude for the wardrobe malfunction that had brought me to my senses.