Being from the Southern part of the United States means three things: You have a tendency to slur entire sentences into one word (example: “”Howy’alldoin’?””); you are destined to marry your cousin or uncle (though they may be the same person); and you have fainting spells.
Luckily, I’m Southern.
I should note that it is also lucky that living in California has taught me to separate individual words while speaking (with the occasional “”y’all”” slipping in here and there). Furthermore, my uncle and cousin have both been removed to the East Coast to prevent any unwanted incestuous progeny, though this does not guarantee that the two of them aren’t getting it on.
But, in true Southern belle style, I do faint. And to make up for the fact that I will never fulfill my destiny as the mother of my own nephew, I faint a lot.
Most of the time, people are freaked out by this little quirk, though I maintain that in North Carolina I would probably receive accolades for my passing out prowess. But every once in a while I manage to make someone’s day with my “”spells.”” Like when I faint in the shower.
Over the summer I was staying in one of the most decrepit dorm arrangements in the world. You had to climb stairs to get to the bathroom, duck to avoid getting a concussion when going into the kitchen and you didn’t get any rent deduction for sharing a bedroom with Mr. Grossbug, the largest insect ever born.
More importantly, the shower was right next to Matt’s room, so you couldn’t sing while you washed. I guess co-ed housing was supposed to make up for the musical stigma.
Within the first two weeks of my stay, I had already fainted while negotiating the stairs to get out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.
Matt acted like a typical man and ran around panicking while I picked myself off the floor. (Unfortunately, Mr. Grossbug was not under me when I fell, and managed to survive the summer.)
But I digress. Matt was panicking.
Matt (shrieking like a girl): “”What happened? What did you do?””
Me (completely sympathetic to Matt’s oblivion): “”I was building a model airplane, you dumbass.””
Matt (looking around for a model airplane kit): “”Hungh?”” (Now the gears are turning. Matt is no idiot. He can clearly see that I don’t like working with glue …. ) “”No, you weren’t. You fainted.””
Me (grateful for that clarification): “”I did? Wow, thanks, Matt.””
Matt (entranced with my ability to hit the floor and get back up again): “”Do you do that a lot?””
Me (rubbing my elbow, which I had landed on): “”Yeah, so if you hear a thud while I’m in the shower, you’ll have to rescue me.””
Famous last words.
About a month later, I was casually showering and not singing, when I started to feel dizzy. I thought at first it was just the shock of actually having hot water for an extended period of time for once, but then I started getting nauseated as well.
Experienced fainters will know that there are three key signs that you are about to faint: dizziness, nausea and being told that you have won the lottery.
I had two out of three.
Thus knowing that I was about to kill myself very inelegantly in the shower, I turned off the water and tried to sit down before losing consciousness. I didn’t quite make it. But I guess 115 pounds of pure Southern delicacy makes a pretty loud bang when it hits a tile floor. In other words: I woke Matt’s ass up when I fainted.
Of course, since I am a very humorous and witty person, Matt thought I was playing a joke on him. But since Matt is a very chivalrous and caring guy, he decided that he had better make sure.
So Matt did what any guy would do. He broke down the door.
And found me naked.
Of course, the fact that fainting only actually lasts a few seconds, plus the incredibly loud bang Matt was able to make by busting through a locked door, brought me back to consciousness. I woke up to see Matt staring at me. Now, if I had been bleeding profusely from the head, I firmly believe that Matt would still have just stood there and stared at me. Not to imply that the sight of me naked is all that awe-inspiring, but Matt (as I think I have mentioned) is a man. And when faced with a naked woman, it is the duty of all men to stand and stare stupidly at them (mostly their breasts). So when you think about it, Matt was doing his gender proud.
For my part (and I suspect the part of all womankind), I wanted him to get the hell out of the bathroom.
Me (very naked): “”Matt, I am naked.””
Matt (standing over me): “”Um,”” (pause) “”you fainted.”” (Pause) “”Are you OK? Do you need help?””
Me (still naked, but dignified, dammit): “”No. Thanks anyway.””
Matt (kindly making absolutely sure my breasts were not harmed in my fall): “”Um. Are you sure you don’t need help?””
Me (did I mention that I am nude here?): “”Yes. Very sure.””
Matt (still standing there, clearly losing his grasp of the English language): “”OK.””
Of course, I can’t get up and get a towel until Matt leaves. And of course, Matt is not leaving. So I did what any woman would do.
Me (and you would have said the same thing): “”Matt I am naked and you need to get the hell out of here!””
So I finally got my white knight to leave me the hell alone. But that bathroom door never completely shut again. So basically, if you’re gonna faint, you might as well be naked. At least then people will really want to help you.
