The suspense is what makes it memorable. If it happened suddenly? Popping off without warning? It would be over far too quickly for you to harbour that fleeting nanosecond of hope that perhaps this time…. maybe for the first time… trauma can be averted.
A slight shift in your seat? Ever-so-gently adjusting your hips. Slowly. Is this a better angle? Can the situation be rectified on the sly?
No. As always, it is not to be. You feel it going over. Past the point of no return. You shift again, hoping that no one else in the room is witness. Worse, you wonder if it will be audible! Christ! Why can’t the white-noise people start talking now? Where are they when you need them?
It’s done. Just like that. Almost relief, as you realize there is nothing to be done. You accept that you will simply have to sort it out later. You gather your notebook as you stand to leave the room, prepared to strategically cover up if needed, and wonder if your altered appearance is noticeable to others.
Perhaps it’s only us chubbies who know this particular joy – another burden of shame we bear because we allow ourselves to be sunk by those bloody Chips Ahoy! Does this happen to skinny people? Doubt it.
Feeling the elastic band on your knickers break loose in the death-slide across your flabby stomach. Taunting you, just a little bit of stiction before snapping free, finally reaching the lowest energy state under the fold of your ice cream-fueled powergut.
Nothing quite like it.