The Troubles Trauma

Having just gotten home after a few hours’ running about, I’m going to settle in for some serious Getting Stuff Done. First, however, I am compelled to share with you my experience at Michael’s Insane Craft Store.

I don’t often go into Michael’s, because it’s stuffed to overflowing with all of these crafty things with which I have no idea what to do. However, I was on a mission this time, had my target in sight, quick and easy… but then decided to look around, having had my eyes recently opened as to what some of this stuff is actually used for. I wandered about, feeling somewhat deer-in-the-headlight-ish, when suddenly I was attacked by a fit of what a friend and I long ago affectionately named, “The Troubles.”

The more delicate amongst you may wish to depart the post at this time.

You may know The Troubles as The Trots, The Gastro or some other name, but something deep within me suddenly hit the PURGE NOW button on my gut and there I was, in the middle of the Baking & Confectionery section. Calling upon all of my abilities to remain calm, I located the nearest employee and tried to the best of my ability to act nonchalantly. “Excuse me, do you happen to have a bathroom?”

“Certainly, it’s all the way across the store, in the back.”

Continuing in my casually-concealing-abject-desperation fashion, I walked with a purpose, found the bathroom hidden in the farthest possible corner and made it inside. Whew. A few moments into this, um, process, another woman came in.

When a rabbit senses danger, it freezes solid. Every molecule it possesses stills.

Around the same time Heather introduced me to the term, “The Troubles,” I introduced her to the term, “The Bunny Freeze.” The link will describe it more fully, but suffice it to say, The Bunny Freeze happened bigtime here today. Not wishing to expose the person in the stall next door to any… sounds… I might make, I froze, mortified. It was readily apparent from certain environmental indicators someone in here was in severe gastrointestinal distress. There were only two stalls. I froze.

She left shortly thereafter, I breathed a sigh of relief, finished my urgent business, grabbed the tail of toilet paper and pulled gently. Four squares came out and detached themselves from the main roll, which retreated back into the giant toilet paper mechanism. The mechanism with no discernible method of opening it.

I looked at the four squares of TP.

They were not going to be sufficient.

Clawing at the toilet paper holder, I finally found a way to outsmart it after a few moments and retrieved its precious cargo.

Could this be a sign from the cosmos? Stay away from Michael’s, Erin; no good can come of it.

Right then. I’m going to attempt a whole new form of crafting here, but I’m not going to tell anyone about it until after Christmas. Then, I promise to provide lulzy photos and narrative. 😉

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4 responses to The Troubles Trauma


  1. omglol, I just read “The Bunny Freeze” – I am most definitely “The Person Who Thinks She Is Invisible” – I don’t try to do it on purpose, it just happens.

  2. Elle Clark

    Have had problems with the troubles since having my gall bladder removed. It seems without a gall bladder anything out of the ordinary or even the norm sometimes can cause this at any time. I am definately always knowing where the bathroom is where I go in case it happens! Michael’s is good for the occasional item’, but Jo Anns is better. Although a good thing to know is Jo Anns accepts Michael’s coupons and vis versa. Thus the extra savings using both!

  3. Erin

    ErinA – That used to be me, all the time. I’ve mostly gotten over it, but was totally turned to stone here. 😀

    Elle – That sounds awful! I hope it doesn’t happen too often.

  4. I’m glad ours isn’t the only crappy Michael’s. The good news: having “The Troubles” start in the baking aisle might put you off seasonal baking and (more my problem) eating of said baked goods.

    Or maybe you should console yourself after this experience by stuffing yourself with Christmas cookies, therefore creating a sort of “plug.”

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