The Shit We Do When Nobody's Watching

I have a question, and I need everyone to be completely fucking honest.

What is something you do when you're alone that you would absolutely DIE if another human being witnessed?

Because I've recently come to the conclusion that we're all just a bunch of socially acceptable weirdos walking around pretending we're normal.

We shower. We get dressed. We go to work. We pay bills. We make polite conversation

with strangers at the grocery store.

And then we get home, close the curtains, and turn into absolute fucking goblins.

I know damn well I'm not the only one.

So, in the interest of transparency, and probably against the advice of anyone who has ever cared about my reputation, allow me to share some of my finest moments.

1. The Legging Adjustment That Should Require a Permit

Ladies. You know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

You put on a pair of leggings, and they're just not sitting right.

So what do you do?

You grab those bastards by the waistband, give a little kick with one leg, do a weird half-squat, and YANK them up with enough force to dislocate a shoulder.

There's a grunt involved.

Sometimes a hop.

Possibly a small earthquake.

The goal? Get those leggings so snug against your nether regions that you could identify a quarter in your back pocket by the year it was minted.

And God forbid someone walks in during this maneuver.

Because there is absolutely NO graceful way to explain why you're standing in the

bedroom looking like you're trying to give yourself a wedgie from the front.

2. The Shoe Sniff Test

I don't always wear socks.

There. I said it.

And when I take my shoes off at the end of the day, do I simply put them away like a civilized woman?

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

I pick one up and SMELL IT.

WHY?!

WHAT INFORMATION AM I LOOKING FOR?!

It's not like I'm going to smell it and say, "Oh, delightful. Notes of lavender and fresh linen."

No.

I'm conducting a full forensic investigation into the swamp conditions inside my own footwear.

And here's the worst part.

If the first shoe smells questionable, I SMELL THE OTHER ONE.

AS IF IT'S GOING TO BE BETTER.

Apparently, I'm running a two-shoe quality-control department that nobody asked for.

3. Shower Duets Featuring Me, Myself, and My Other Personality

Some people sing in the shower.

I perform entire fucking concerts.

And not just the female vocals.

OH NO.

If it's a duet, I'm singing BOTH PARTS.

Male voice? Suddenly I'm a baritone with a drinking problem.

Female voice? Celine Dion has entered the building.

I'm switching octaves, dramatically turning toward the shampoo bottle, and occasionally closing my eyes during the emotional parts.

There are hand gestures.

There are key changes.

There are performances that would make Broadway question its entire existence.

Hell, there's even applause.

Meanwhile, I'm standing there naked with conditioner running down my ass, pretending I'm performing for a sold-out audience at Madison Square Garden.

And if someone opens the bathroom door?

The concert is canceled.

Due to technical difficulties.

4. The Nose-Picking Situation Nobody Wants to Discuss

Can we PLEASE stop pretending that grown adults don't pick their noses?

We all do it.

Sometimes there's something up there that blowing your nose simply isn't going to handle.

It's a structural issue.

A renovation project.

You go in for a quick adjustment, and suddenly you're performing a delicate excavation that would make an archaeologist proud.

And then comes the real dilemma.

What the fuck do you do with it?

Because NOW you've created a situation.

You can't just put it back.

There's no return policy.

And if someone walks into the room, suddenly you're pretending you were scratching your eyebrow.

WITH YOUR ENTIRE FINGER INSIDE YOUR SKULL.

Very convincing.

5. The Mysterious Comforter Stain Investigation

This one is particularly disturbing, even to me.

So there I am, minding my own business, walking past the bed, when Jet points to a mysterious spot on the comforter.

"What's that?"

Well, naturally, being the responsible adult woman that I am, I lean over to investigate.

First, I touch it.

Then I smell it.

And because apparently my nose wasn't qualified to make a final determination, I TASTE IT.

YES. I FUCKING TASTED IT....RIGHT IN FRONT OF JET.

The man probably thought he was getting a normal girlfriend. Instead, he's watching a 47-year-old woman conduct a forensic investigation using her TONGUE.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!

I have a perfectly functioning brain, a full-time job, responsibilities, and children I've managed to raise into adulthood.

And yet there I am, licking unidentified substances off my bedding like a raccoon behind a dumpster.

For the record, it was chocolate.

Probably from one of my midnight snacking adventures.

Which brings me to an entirely different level of personal humiliation.

6. MIDNIGHT SNACKING: THE CRIME SCENE

There is something deeply wrong with the way we eat after midnight.

During the day, I'm a reasonably functioning adult.

I use plates.

Napkins.

Occasionally even portion control.

But at 3:43 a.m.?

I'm standing in the kitchen in the dark, shoveling cookies into my mouth at a speed that would concern medical professionals.

I'm not chewing.

I'm PROCESSING INVENTORY.

Four cookies disappear before my brain even registers that I've opened the package.

Crumbs are flying.

I'm eating over the sink like a fucking feral possum.

But here's where things get REALLY classy.

Sometimes The Shuggs needs to go outside in the middle of the night to take care of her business.

And naturally, I accompany her.

Because I'm a responsible dog mother.

But am I getting dressed?

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT.

First of all, I sleep in what can only be described as a collection of moo moos.

You know those oversized nightgowns that look like something your grandmother wore while making biscuits during the Great Depression?

THOSE.

Sexy, I know.

Victoria's Secret could NEVER.

And underwear?

PLEASE.

Once I'm home for the night, that department is CLOSED.

So there I am, standing outside in the middle of the night, wearing a moo moo, with my vagina in the breeze, supervising a 140-pound Great Dane taking a shit.

And because apparently this wasn't enough of a visual masterpiece, I'M ALSO EATING COOKIES.

Just standing there.

In the darkness.

Moo moo blowing in the wind.

Vagina getting some fresh Vermont air.

Shoveling cookies into my face while The Shuggs searches for the perfect patch of grass to bless with her presence.

WHAT A FUCKING VISION OF FEMININITY.

Somewhere, a Victoria's Secret angel just lost her wings.

And God forbid a neighbor looks outside.

What are they going to see?

A large woman in a billowing nightgown, aggressively eating baked goods while her dog circles the lawn like she's trying to establish a landing pattern at an airport.

I'm basically a haunted Victorian lawn ornament with a snack addiction.

And when we finally go back inside?

Do I brush my teeth and go back to sleep like a normal person?

Maybe.

Or maybe I grab one more cookie for the road.

THE ROAD BEING THE SEVENTEEN STEPS BACK TO MY BEDROOM.

And apparently, sometimes the chocolate doesn't even make it into my mouth.

It ends up on the comforter, where Jet later discovers it and I have to perform a taste test like a fucking crime scene investigator.

It's a beautiful ecosystem we've created.

7. Sucking In Your Stomach on the Scale

I cannot possibly be the only person who does this.

You step onto the bathroom scale.

Look down.

And SUCK IN YOUR STOMACH.

WHY, KELLY?!

DO YOU THINK YOUR ORGANS HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING?!

Do I genuinely believe that pulling my stomach in so hard I nearly pass out is going to somehow convince the scale to knock off twelve pounds?

Apparently, yes.

Because I do it EVERY FUCKING TIME!

Sometimes I even stand taller.

Pull my shoulders back.

Hold my breath.

Like the scale is going to say, "Oh, excuse me, ma'am. I didn't realize you had such excellent posture. Let me adjust that number."

It's a digital scale, not a beauty pageant judge.

AND YET HERE WE ARE.

8. Farting in the Car and Immediately Questioning Your Life Choices

There is a particular kind of confidence that comes from being alone in your vehicle.

Windows up.

Music playing.

Nobody around.

So you let one rip.

And sometimes?

Sometimes you immediately realize you've made a catastrophic error in judgment.

Because WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DID YOU EAT?!

You're suddenly frantically rolling down windows at 65 miles per hour.

Your hair is blowing everywhere.

Your eyes are watering.

And you're looking around like someone ELSE could possibly be responsible.

IT'S JUST YOU, KELLY.

YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

And then, because humans are apparently incapable of learning from their mistakes, you'll do it again twenty minutes later.

9. The Mirror Inspection Nobody Asked For

You know when you get out of the shower and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror?

And instead of getting dressed, you start inspecting things?

You lift an arm.

Turn sideways.

Examine a questionable mole.

Look at your butt from an angle that requires the flexibility of a circus performer.

Then you bend over and look between your legs in the mirror.

FOR WHAT?!

WHAT ARE WE EXPECTING TO DISCOVER?!

A secret message?

A missing set of car keys?

Then comes the stomach jiggle.

Maybe a little boob adjustment.

And occasionally you make a face at yourself so disturbing that you actually laugh.

Imagine if someone had surveillance footage of this.

I'd have to leave the country.

10. The Underwear Removal That Defies Physics

At the end of a long day, there are two types of people.

People who calmly remove their clothing.

And people like me.

One foot stays planted on the floor while the other attempts to kick a pair of underwear into orbit.

Sometimes you catch them.

Sometimes they land on the bathroom counter.

Sometimes they get caught around your ankle, and you nearly die trying to free yourself.

And if you're REALLY talented, you can launch them directly into the laundry basket without using your hands.

That's not laziness.

That's ATHLETICISM.

Put it in the Olympics.

11. Rehearsing Arguments That Will Never Happen

Please tell me I'm not alone in this one.

You're in the shower, driving, or folding laundry, and suddenly you're having an imaginary confrontation with someone who pissed you off three years ago.

Except THIS TIME?

You've got ALL the right things to say.

You're articulate.

You're ruthless.

You're delivering comebacks so devastating that the imaginary person is emotionally destroyed.

"AND ANOTHER THING!"

I'm pointing at absolutely nobody.

Rolling my eyes.

Making facial expressions.

Sometimes I even restart the argument because I thought of a better opening statement.

And when it's over?

I feel victorious.

I have won an argument that NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED.

Congratulations to me.

12. The Smell-It-Again Phenomenon

This one might be the most concerning thing about humanity.

You smell something disgusting.

Your immediate reaction?

"OH MY GOD, THAT'S HORRIBLE."

And then what do you do?

YOU SMELL IT AGAIN.

WHY?!

Your brain has already confirmed that it's offensive.

The investigation is CLOSED.

But no.

You need a second opinion.

FROM YOURSELF.

And sometimes you make someone else smell it.

"OH MY GOD, SMELL THIS."

Why are we like this?!

Why is our first instinct upon discovering something horrifying to recruit witnesses?!

So Here's My Point...

We spend an absolutely ridiculous amount of our lives trying to appear normal.

We make small talk. We wear respectable clothing. We say things like "Per my last

email" and "Have a wonderful afternoon."

Meanwhile, the same woman who professionally handles business transactions all day is going home to sniff her shoes, yank her leggings into another zip code, and perform a

two-person love ballad with a bottle of Pantene.

Then, twelve hours later, she's standing barefoot in her yard wearing a moo moo, vagina flapping in the October breeze, eating cookies while a Great Dane takes a shit.

THIS IS WHO WE ARE, PEOPLE.

And you know what?

I think that's fucking hilarious.

Because the older I get, the more I realize that nobody actually has their shit together.

We're all just a bunch of overgrown children with mortgages, car payments, and questionable personal habits.

Some of us are just more willing to admit it.

And honestly, there's something kind of wonderful about having someone in your life who sees your weirdness and doesn't run screaming into the woods.

Someone who watches you taste a mystery stain on the comforter and somehow still wants to sleep next to you.

Jet, if you're reading this, I love you.

And I'm sorry you thought you were getting a normal girlfriend.

You got a cookie-eating, moo-moo-wearing, shoe-sniffing, comforter-licking lunatic instead.

NO REFUNDS.

Now I Want to Hear From YOU.

What's the weirdest, most embarrassing, absolutely unhinged thing you do when nobody's watching?

Don't come into my comments pretending you sit around reading poetry and sipping herbal tea in your spare time.

I KNOW SOME OF YOU ARE SMELLING YOUR BELLY BUTTONS.

And to the people who claim they don't do ANYTHING weird when they're alone?

You're the ones I'm most concerned about.

Stay weird, my friends. And for the love of God, stop tasting unidentified stains.

Unless you're reasonably certain it's chocolate.

Then apparently all bets are off.