The fart story

Salsa class starts at 6 pm and it was 5.30 pm but there was still no bus service 133 in sight. I don't know why but the nagging in my head told me it's a bad idea to take a cab. Ignored it, and hailed one nonetheless. Tanjong Pagar Mrt Station, I told the uncle. He asked me which route to take, to which I expressed uncertainty. No idea if it'd be faster to go by ECP or North Bridge Road, considering all that potential traffic jam. Silence, he said nothing. And then we proceeded to take the North Bridge Road route. I cursed as we passed the ERP gantry at Bencoolen Street. Traffic wasn't too bad, there was still not too much of a jam, thankfully. And while the car was cruising past Chinatown, 'Priak''. What was that?

And then I realized the uncle must have farted, since I figured that holding onto the steering wheel could not possibly produce that sound. And the smell, it confirmed my suspicions. I almost died back there trying to hold back from laughing out loud. Gosh. The uncle wind down the window a little and tried to make small talk. We shared a precious moment of awkwardness.

And when I finally arrived at my destination on the dot at six, the place was nearly empty apart from the instructors and receptionist. Oh, so early today? The ladyboss instructor asked. What? Lesson starts at 7 pm, not six darling. Oh okay, I'll just wait then. Smile. Can't be any more embarrassed. I spent 11 dollars to smell an old uncle's fart so that I could be the cuckoo who's one hour too early for her class. FML.

I really should have listened to that voice in my head. Really.