It wasn't me...

Have you ever done something in public that you were shy to confess and so pretend like it wasn't you who did it?

It could be something like running into the wrong loo and seeing things that you could only see in R-rated films, tripping over that sneaky banana skin and landing on your butt, or letting out that uncontrollable, and somewhat enormous, fart just when you were squeezed in an elevator with 20 other people.

Own up, I know you did all of these at some point in your life. All of us do.

So you probably know what it feels like to have dozens of huge, menacing eyes staring at you like you had just committed a murder.

I happened to have that feeling again last week after I happily thought that living in a sparsely populated town like Karlskrona would kill the chances of such a situation surfacing.

The only difference was, this time round, IT REALLY WASN'T ME. *swear*

Nonetheless, when you are a mum, if your girl can sing well, eat by herself and string sentences together by the age of two, the credit goes to her. If she digs her nose, snatches toys or throw tantrums in shopping malls, the blame goes to you. Invariably.

Anyway, we were out buying groceries at the supermarket and my girl chose that moment to poop in her pants diapers when we were queuing up to pay for our goods at the cashier. To be frank, due to my highly sensitive sense of smell that could detect her poop at supersonic speed, I knew instantly that some shit had just taken its place. I would have loved to bring her to the nearest changing room asap had it not been for the following reasons:

1) I was already halfway through the queue, which unfortunately was looking extra long today since it was at the peak hour. No, I wasn't ready to give up my place in exchange for some shit.

2) There were three elderly folks in front of me who pushed their walkers, removed their items from the baskets and took out their cash at snail's pace. Usually I wouldn't mind it one bit, but today, it was different, I had hoped things would move like lightning just so I could exit swiftly.

3) There was no loo at the supermarket and since my place was less than a ten minutes walk away, it only made sense to quickly finish paying up and then make our way back home where I could wash her dirty bottom in the comfort of our bath tub. Saves the wet wipes and the 5kr you have to pay to enter the toilet here.

So, the conclusion was: I was pretty stuck at where I was. I could smell the reeking, stinking, foul odour at this point and wondered why today's one smelt particularly bad. Maybe it was that mouthful of curry she tasted or that yoghurt which was going to expire. Oh, wait a minute, then there was that half rotten kiwi fruit too...

Anyway, I tried to act the "It wasn't me" look which wasn't too hard because that was a fact. Still, I anxiously searched around for another kid who looked like he/she could be still wearing diapers so that if there wasn't only one suspect on the list - The little girl with the black hair and yellow skin. Unfortunately, there wasn't. I wasn't going to be mean and drag the 75-year-old granny into the list even if she really could be a suspect.

Soon, everyone around me could smell the stench. All of them darted glances at my high-spirited girl who was still hopping around, apparently nonchalant of the happenings and unconcerned about the lump in her pants. After that, their glances shifted to me even though I tried to maintain a three metre distance from Angel. Ok, it wasn't that hard to notice who was the mum when we were the only Asians in the entire supermarket. I wasn't going to return their glances or own up and say "Yes, my daughter did it!", so I acted like I was frantically searching my bag for my purse.

After a few minutes, even I was feeling subdued by the potent smell despite I've been undergoing rigorous training for the past two years. I looked around, just curious to see the reactions of the people. A kind mum gave me an empathetic nod, saying "I've been there too". Some of the teenagers put a finger to their noses and I wasn't going to tell them that it wouldn't work though I knew it. A couple of burly businessmen were engaged in a conversation and started talking faster just so they could get more words before the next breath. Even the old ladies who were on walkers suddenly seemed to be able to walk faster, in the opposite direction.

For a moment, I wished I could dig a tunnel and immediately escape from the supermarket. With my groceries. If only, if only...

That was when I came up with a brilliant idea. All supermarkets should come up with a new rule. I think all mums out there should support my notion and we should put up a request for supermarkets (let's start small, but I intend to broaden it to include shopping malls, fast food chains, banks etc in future) to put up this signboard.

Wouldn't it just be a perfect solution for everyone? For the kid in the smelly pants, for the fellow shoppers who happen to be there at the unlucky timing, for the cashiers who are stuck to their seats with no breath of fresh air, and yes, for the mum who has to carry out the saintly duty of combating the brown fecal matter.

Before you wanna raise your hands and object to my proposal, well, I would tell you that I would gladly accept it. So long as you take my sword and fight the war the next time.

Ok, I'm kidding. I'm a responsible mum (at least, I'd like to think of myself as one) and won't expect others to clean up my shit. Or my girl's. Nonetheless, I hope you don't bump into me the next time this happens. If you do and happen to sniff in the "aroma", I do pray that youcanholdyourbreathreallywell, yeah?