First of all, I’d like to clarify that I wasn’t the one who did the pants shitting. It was Emma. Second, this was last year and not when she was in diapers. Third, she gave me permission to tell her story. Because she’s awesome and it’s funny.
Forgive me, but there’s some back story here. I want to give a quick run down of how I have always wanted a little something something from Tiffany’s. You know, the fancy American jeweler with the little blue box. Dammit all- they have good packaging. And marketing. Because Audrey Hepburn wasn’t in a movie called Breakfast at Ben Bridge. Or Breakfast at the Sear’s jewelry department. When there’s a movie called Breakfast at Tiffany’s, it sort of makes the place iconic. Not sort of. It does.
James hates Tiffany’s. Like with a passion. He sees it as over priced and unnecessary. I see it as beautiful craftsmanship, classic, heirlooms. He sees it as a rip-off. We’ve been together 20 years and I told him that one day, if I could just get a little blue box, it would be so nice. And not a ring. Or diamonds. Like, find a key chain or something. But for gosh sakes, put it in that blue box!!
So before last Mother’s Day, when Emma was 14, I told her the story of my blue box wish and how her dad was not into it. We were actually shopping at the mall and she said she would talk to dad about Mother’s Day for me. Bless her heart! I needed a blue box ambassador!!
The morning of Mother’s Day the kids presented me with cards and tea and goodies from Teavana. Oh yay! My favorite. And then, oh what do we have here? James comes in with a LITTLE BLUE GIFT BAG!! OH MY GOSH IT’S A DREAM COME TRUE!!! In it was a little box, and in that box was a little necklace with the initial R on it. Perfect. I was thrilled.
So I ask Emma privately if she helped. Of course she helped! And she said, “now I can tell you the story I’ve been dying to tell you!”
Let’s also mention the fact that Emma was on heavy drugs for her ovarian cyst issues she was dealing with that spring. And also a combination of laxatives and such to help regulate her with all these drugs.
She said that while she and James were browsing in Tiffany’s, she felt the need to fart. Yeah, sure. No biggy. So she goes to a corner of the store that she feels safe enough to just you know, toot toot. Well, you know the phrase, ‘don’t trust the fart’. Sure enough this was more than a basic flatulence. She’s in the corner and the fart is well, it’s a solid fart. Yep. A turd exited.
The horror. The panic. What to do?? She’s all in her head, “I’m in Tiffany’s for GOSH SAKES!!”
She goes over to James who is with the sales person. “Hey, yeah, dad, uhm, I’m going to need to go to the restroom. Where’s the nearest one?”
Salesperson, “Oh it’s upstairs through Nordstrom.”
James, “Honey, I don’t want you going by yourself, just wait.”
Not sure the extra paranoia on James’ part considering at 14 I was at the mall with friends all the time and went to the restroom by myself. But okay, whatever.
Emma chooses not to argue and watches the salesperson painstakingly tie the white ribbon on the box. At this time, I think Emma was resenting Tiffany’s as much as James’ debit card was!
When they were done, Emma proceeded to walk a little less normal towards the restrooms. She tells her dad that she legit pooped her pants. He looks at her like, what? And she’s all, “I shouldn’t have trusted the fart.” He’s all, “I don’t want to know.”
She takes care of whatever she can at the Nordstrom restroom. And all is well.
Whenever I wear that necklace, not only do I think of the love and dedication of those closest to me, but that Emma pooped her pants at Tiffany’s. And honestly, that’s a high class poop, right?
And that’s how I got my first Tiffany’s gift. And I truly love it.