It wasn't until I crapped my pants that I knew I was allergic to seafood.

It had been 4 years, 2 months and 6 days since I had gone on a date. Not because I went through a bad breakup and was wallowing in self-pity, but because I’d been so focused on my career that I had time for little else. I had moved my way up to project manager at a large marketing firm. I had an office filled with inspirational quotes, a fern in the corner that was half dead due to severe dehydration and a goldfish, Frank. Frank and I had been together for about 5 years. Even though there were occasions where a considerable amount of time had passed between feedings and water changes, Frank, the trooper, pulled through. Everything in my life seemed to be working out great and just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, I met Ramona.

Ramona had worked at the firm for a few years, and even though I had noticed her glowing aura and beauty, our interactions were nothing short of professional. We had worked on a few projects, and worked well together. Not only was she hard working, but she brought a calmness mixed with humor wherever she went. She was an absolute pleasure to be around. I would’ve been daft to not notice that Ramona was coming around a lot more often. The conversations we started having weren’t work related and more friendship based. She’d pop into my office after a weekend to say hello and to make sure that Frank had been adequately fed. One particular time that Ramona entered my office I could sense a nervousness emanating off of her. She was quite obviously trying to stifle her shyness when she unexpectedly blurted out “Umm, so I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me on Friday?” My brain quickly assumed that I was on some kind of prank show, but a brief glance around my office confirmed that there were in fact no hidden film crews. I don’t remember my exact words due to lack of oxygen from holding my breath, but I must have accepted the invitation because I now had dinner plans with Ramona on Friday night!

After what felt like an eternity, Friday had finally arrived. I’d never been an adventurous eater and usually just stuck to my meat and potatoes. In all my years on earth I had never eaten seafood, but Ramona suggested a seafood restaurant that she’d heard was great. I happily accepted, but let's be honest, I would have gone to a whale blubber buffet if that’s where she wanted to go. After changing my clothes four and a half times in an attempt to make myself look as presentable as possible, I was ready to go. Ramona and I had agreed that I would pick her up at 7:00pm. I sent a quick message to let her know that I was on my way, and I headed out the door. I got in my car and attempted to start the ignition...and nothing. The battery was deader than my office fern. I promptly sent a message to Ramona and explained what was happening. I was afraid that she’d think that I was blowing her off, when in fact I would have ridden my neighbor’s kid’s tricycle just to ensure that I made it to our date. In her usual easy-going manner, she sent a reply that read “No problem at all! We can take my car. See you in a few mins!" As promised, she rolled up only moments later. Even though it was dark out, I could still see her smiling face through the windshield. I gave her a quick wave that definitely looked more goofy than welcoming. Upon entering her car, I heard the sound of what could have only been my pants splitting. I knew they felt tight when I put them on, but not tight enough that something as simple as sitting down would split them; I guess I was wrong. I kept trying to sneakily slide my hand under my butt cheek to get an idea of how bad the damage was. After finding the hole I noticed Ramona glance over with the side of her eye. She must have thought that I was subtly trying to relieve a rectal itch. To alleviate any possible awkwardness, I just left my hand where it was. That being tucked snugly under my right buttocks. By the time we got to the restaurant my hand had fallen asleep. Pins and needles infected my hand so greatly that I couldn’t even wiggle my fingers. I didn’t know it at that moment, but my sleepy hand would be the least of my worries.

We arrived at the quaint restaurant, and as we waited to be seated a waiter zipped by us with a sizzling tray of food that was loud enough to drown out the ambient music. I never understood entrees like that. If it still needed to cook a bit longer, then why not just leave it in the kitchen? I firmly believe that the only type of person who orders a dish like that is a pompous attention seeker. They get their 15 seconds of fame when the entire restaurant turns and looks at their table. Anyway, we got seated, ordered our drinks and started to peruse the menu. I found that I wasn’t looking at the food items nearly as much as I kept glancing at Ramona. To say that she looked spectacular doesn’t even come close to describing it. The way her hair, smile and eyes looked in the warm lighting was like a painting. The waiter returned and since I barely looked at the menu, I just pointed at something. It must have been a popular item because the waiter gave me a confirming “Excellent choice, sir!” Once Ramona and I had placed our orders there was a brief exchange of awkward smiles. She broke the ice by asking something generic about work. It didn’t take long before we both loosened up and the conversation flowed a little more casually. As I listened to her laugh at my cheesy jokes, I felt the need to tell her how happy I was that she asked me to join her for dinner. I took a hefty swig of my sarsaparilla for courage and I began to speak, but my words were quickly interrupted and drowned out by the sound of a sizzling platter. I followed the waiter with my eyes to see whom the next egoist was. That’s when the waiter placed the tumultuous dish in front of me, and yes, the rest of the judging restaurant patrons turned to look at me. Ramona’s order followed immediately after the sizzling disruption and we wasted no time digging in.

Since I’d never eaten seafood before, I was a tad apprehensive when scooping a fork full of this water creature stir-fry into my mouth. Once I pounded about a quarter of the plate down my gullet, I was willing to look past the spectacle of its presentation. It was SO good! It had shrimp, lobster, a variety of fish, octopus and possibly a mermaid. All I knew is that I couldn’t scoop it into my mouth fast enough. Ramona was enjoying her meal and our conversation just as much as I was. That’s when things started to go downhill. Ramona’s cheerful smile turned to a look of slight concern. “Is everything ok?” she questioned. I briefly stopped chewing “Of course, why?” She took a moment before answering “You’re getting a little red.” I was feeling a little warm, but nothing that I thought would change my complexion. Her genuine concern made me want to take a trip to the washroom mirror. I excused myself and proceeded to the Men’s room. Ramona was correct. I seemed to have a few red patches popping up on my face and neck. There was a slight itch on my torso as well. I lifted up my shirt to take a look and discovered that the patches had invaded my abdomen. At that moment I felt a tiny gurgle in my lower intestines. I was alone in the room, so I felt it was safe to relieve a little pressure. The flatulence that I released instantly felt a bit better. I splashed some water on my face, put myself back together and proceeded to my waiting date. I got about 4 steps from the washroom when I felt the gurgle in my guts again. My split pants and I had already journeyed half way across the restaurant; turning around to go back to the Men’s room would have looked weird. I figured I could just hold it. In fear of making Ramona think that I wasn’t having a good time, sitting back down at the table and inhaling the rest of my delicious dinner was the only option. That’s when I knew that something bad was happening. It felt like there was a boiling pot of gravy in my stomach. It was bubbling and churning so bad that I started to sweat. It looked like I just got out of the shower and put my clothes on without first using a towel. Something was seriously wrong. I felt as if an object was stuck to the back of my esophagus. I kept trying to clear my throat without being too noticeable, but Ramona noticed. “Do you need a drink of water or something?” she asked with genuine worry. Emptying my bowels into the nearest toilet or garbage bin was what I needed, but I responded with “I’m ok, thanks.” I wasn’t ok, though. Thankfully Ramona and I had finished our meals. The waiter approached our table and asked “Would you like to see a dessert menu?” Ramona answered first “I couldn’t eat another bite! Thank you!” The waiter awaited my response as I was almost doubled over and clutching my stomach. I managed to mumble “just the bill, please.” I should have given this restaurant a 5-star rating by how much I appreciated the promptness of the bill delivery. I took care of the bill and we were on our way.

The ride back to my place was unusually silent. I was fine with that, though. I was not in the mood for chit chat. Ramona could sense by my body language that something was wrong. It quite possibly could have been because she was catching small whiffs of the toxic fumes that I was releasing from my rectum. She didn’t verbally say anything, but her micro gestures said it all. My stomach sounded like a severe thunderstorm rolling in. It was so loud that Ramona glanced over a few times. The sweat was now literally dripping from my flushed face, the lump in my throat had grown substantially, and I was on the verge of simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea. Of course, when you’re in a rush to get somewhere you hit every red light. Today was no different. The horrific realization that I wasn’t going to make it home in time before the eruption was like a realistic nightmare. I had my butt cheeks squeezed together so hard that I cracked my coccyx as if I just had a chiropractic adjustment. I’m not a religious man, but I was praying to any god that would listen to please let me make it home. My stomach bubbled, my body sweated buckets worth and hives had now taken over the entirety of my body. I was ready to scream for Ramona to pull over so that I could void my bowels on the side of the road, and that’s when it happened. We hit the largest pot hole that must have been made by a meteor. The jolt sent my sphincter awry resulting in the evilness brewing in my abdomen to come rushing out with record breaking force. The hole in the seat of my pants acted like a high-pressure nozzle. Liquid feces splashed up my back, down my legs and most notably, it soaked the cloth seat of Ramona’s pristine vehicle. The only words that I could seem to muster were “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” I was in complete shock that this actually happened. We pulled up to my house as severe embarrassment and humiliation set in. I couldn’t even speak or look at Ramona. I exited the car, shut the door and crab walked into my house without even glancing back. Ramona quickly sped off and I can only assume that she was on her way to set fire to her defiled automobile. After throwing my clothes directly into the trash, and washing off the evidence of my mishap in a scalding shower; I proceeded to book an emergency vacation from work for the following week. I knew that I would never be able to return, though.

An entire week had past and I hadn’t spoken to a single person. I became a hermit and just kept replaying what had transpired. Moving to a hut in a desert that was nowhere near seafood seemed like my only logical option. I was about to start packing for my new life in the sandy wasteland when my phone that hadn’t been touched in a week gave off an audible notification. My heart sank when I saw that it was from Ramona. Before looking at the message I could only imagine what she could possibly need to talk to me about. Maybe she was telling me how disgusted she was, maybe it was a cleaning bill, or even a lawsuit for emotional damage. I decided to face the music and open the message. I was surprised to read “Dinner tonight? This time we’ll take your car!” I hadn’t even had a chance to respond when yet another message came through. It was a picture of Frank in his sparkling clean bowl on Ramona’s kitchen counter. The message read “Frank says ‘Hi’ and that he misses you!” The feeling of dread slowly left my body. I couldn’t believe that Ramona rescued Frank from imminent death and that she actually wanted to see me again.

I accepted Ramona’s dinner offer, and this time it was guaranteed to be a lot dryer because we were not going to a seafood restaurant. She suggested a new Indian restaurant that she heard was fantastic!