Perfection in a Smelly Package

Maybe it's just my particular friends, but I've noticed that a vast majority of the women whose homes I have the opportunity to visit are exceedingly clean. On top of that, women just seem to have this innate need -- and, more importantly, ability -- to ensure that things are clean and neat and orderly.

For example, whenever there's a party at someone's house, there generally seems to be a female guest who compulsively makes sure things are clean along the way -- picking up stray cups and bottles, and removing bits of trash like wadded paper towels and empty paper plates. I don't mean to sound sexist, but that just seems to be the case. Men don't give a crap. Empty bottles and wadded up napkins just remain where they are, to be tidied up later when the room magically returns to a state Martha Stewart would be proud of.

Women just seem to have this gift for making sure things look good. I mean, some ladies I know can almost literally just throw some pieces of tissue paper together with minimal effort and come up with a wonderful decorative effect. Others don't seem to have to work very hard to make their apartments tastefully and neatly decorated. Men, on the other hand: slobs. There's some merit to the notion that a bachelor's apartment "could use a woman's touch."

Why, one might even surmise that some women can even make throwing up an art form.

Well whaddya know? (What a segue!)

The other night, some friends and I went out for drinks after work. Drinks turned to, well, several drinks, after which we decided to stop off for some food. We dined al fresco in a wonderful patio area at a Thai restaurant downtown. After some scintillating conversation and several tasty curry dishes, rice, and drunken noodles plates* (ordered by various people, not all by me), my friend Lily calmly stated, "I have to go now."

[* I should say, ordering drunken noodles after a night of heavy drinking was quite genius.]

The bill had not yet arrived, nor had we actually ordered dessert yet as we had planned. It was unclear why she suddenly had to leave.

The lack of clarity lasted for only about a minute.

Lily made her way to a piece of shrubbery about ten paces up the sidewalk and, unable to control herself any longer, bent over and began emptying the contents of her stomach. Her boyfriend, thankfully, had picked up on her several hints before she got up, dropped some cash on the table, and had followed her. Here was his very own "hold her hair" moment.

[Aside: This is the same girl who once picked up a cute boy at Dewey and actually brought him back to the house we were all staying at... where she started the reverse peristalsis process in the upstairs bathroom. Embarrassed, she refused to let anyone into the bathroom to help her or even rub her back or whatever people do. Left to deal with the cute boy she had brought home, I asked what he wanted to do given the circumstances. "I don't think she's going to let you in while she's, uh, unloading," I told him. "It's okay," he responded, "she's so cute even when booting I'd hold her hair any day." It was strangely sweet. I felt bad for the poor guy. I eventually got him into a cab, even though he was planning on spending the night. Part of me would have offered to share a bed with him and make some advances on him, but I don't think that would have been cool.]

Lily and her boyfriend left after that, and the rest of us stayed behind (we all knew that Lily would not have wanted us to help her out -- she gets quite embarrassed by this, which is odd, because despite her embarrassment it does seem to happen a lot). We had dessert, chatted some more, paid the bill, and headed out.

On the way out, I couldn't help stopping at the shrubbery Lily had so recently encamped herself at. I even mocked her a bit by bending over (at the waist, to make sure I didn't get too close) and saying to my friends, "Hey, look! Who am I? Who am I?" At first, I couldn't spot her deposit at all... until I realized that I was looking right at it. (Three guesses as to what gave it away, and the first two don't count). It was a perfectly hemispheric mound; the only thing setting it apart from the rest of the area was the fact that it was a different color. Otherwise, I kid you not, it looked like a mini pitcher's mound. Nicely rounded. No spatter. No uneven edges. (A very very small) Charlie Brown could have tried to pitch from it. It could have been a giant piece of flan. It looked as if someone had taken a bowl of oatmeal, turned it over in the dirt, and removed the bowl, leaving a perfect shape.

Yes, my friend Lily even puked into a perfectly neat little pile that betrayed no hint of the messiness that one normally finds inherent in the act of upchucking.

It was a marvel to behold.