Last summer, I went swimming in the ocean, floating really, bobbing gently on the waves, in no more than three feet of water (see previous stories on fear of sharks.) Normally, I would pee in the ocean, (hey, millions of animals pee in it every day, don’t judge me), but since I had been out of the water awhile and didn’t want to go back in right that minute, I went to the real bathrooms in the parking lot.
As I pulled down the bottom of my bathing suit, a dead fish, about two inches long, fell out and plopped onto the nasty concrete floor.
I stared at it in horror. Not because a fish had been in my underpants, but because one had been flailing and gasping for air in there, spending the last few moments of its life, dying a gruesome death IN MY BATHING SUIT!
How had I not felt the poor little thing? Tragically, there had been a point, when he swam into what he thought must have been a particularly enticing cave, while I was still in the water, and he must have been splish- splashing happily along and I NEVER FELT A FISH SWIMMING IN MY PANTS.
Then, after I inadvertently pulled him out of the water to his imminent death, I never felt him flopping around in his death throes either.
I can think of few more undignified ways of dying than in someone’s pants and they don’t even notice.
This also leads me to an obvious question: Just how big IS my ass? So big apparently, that I cannot feel a living creature DYING IN MY PANTS.
And I felt terrible, not only that he had died in such an ignoble way, and that my ass was apparently the size of a small pond, but that he died at all. If only I had known he was there, I would have rescued him from the valley of death and set him free.