5

Only a handful of times in my life have seconds felt like minutes.

Age: 9: I flushed Mom’s antique diamond ring down the toilet (accidentally, of course). I still remember the horror as I watched the water swirl around and around and around in the bowl, taking the ring somewhere it never deserved to go.

Age 15: I backed Dad’s brand new truck into a neighbor’s mailbox---with him in the passenger seat. I could’ve died during those seconds of silence waiting for him to say something.

Age 22: The dentist’s drill hit a nerve during my first and last root canal. They had to peel me off the ceiling.

Age 26: Sitting in Mr. Zepp’s office, both of us staring at my gag gift bra.

To his credit, Mr. Zepp quickly glanced away and tried to meet my eyes again. Only I couldn’t meet his. Mortified is not a word I use to describe myself very often. I’m the kind of girl who’ll shrug off embarrassment, usually with a self-deprecating crack.

But this morning I wasn’t feeling like myself. I felt like crying. In front of Mr. Zepp. During my interview. So I did what anyone would’ve done in my position.

I ran back to the bathroom.

Shutting myself in the nearest stall, I slammed down the toilet seat and sat on it. Normally I wouldn’t do something like that, either. I’d watched enough Learning Channel documentaries to know what kind of germs lurked around here. But like I said, I wasn’t myself.

“It’s time for a change,” I whispered.