When bad things happen to good people

I have a hemorrhoid.

I discovered it this morning in the shower.  I don't usually shower in the morning, but I wanted to be able to pack earlier this evening, and I wanted my toiletries to be dry.  This would be my last shower until after I got off the plane, so I was doing an especially careful cleansing.  It was during this purification process that I reached a soapy hand around to my nether sphincter and was startled by a bulge which I had not previously encountered. 

At first I thought it was a boil.  I give it a gentle squeeze, hoping that it would burst, and its contents be washed down the drain with the rest of the grime and Dove soap.

It didn't.  It had to be a hemorrhoid.  I didn't actually know anything about hemorrhoids: where they come from, what they are made of, or how the hell one had appeared on my asshole.  In fact, I had never seen one, much less had one.  Thoughts raced through my head that I would usually attribute to cancer victims: How did this happen?  Why me?

It couldn't be something I had done--I hadn't had sex in weeks.  In fact, I hadn't had an orgasm in days.  Maybe that's the problem--an orgasm a day keeps the ass growths away.

I finished my shower with a pressing urgency.  I got out, threw at towel over my hair, and sat on the lid of the toilet.  No pain, but then there hadn't been any before the shower either.

Gingerly, I got up, spread my cheeks, and looked over my shoulder into the mirror.  There it was: a purple bulge on my anus.  I contemplated throwing up, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.  I tore through my toiletry kit for Preparation H.  I didn't have any; but why would I?  I'm 23--hemorrhoids are for pregnant ladies and old people.  I knew I had some at home, but I'm not home.  Remember the bit about the plane?  Well, I'm getting on the plane tomorrow.  Right after I get off of this boat.

I wanted to smack myself in the skull.  What kind of idiot doesn't bring Preparation H on a boat?  Besides people who have never had hemorrhoids before?

At least this wasn't a friend's yacht or something.  Not that I have friends with yachts; my friends are all broke grad students living with their parents.  And, come to think of it, so am I.  I had been eternally thankful for the opportunity to take a cruise, and pretend to be a rich person for a while, but now I felt like a fool.  If I ever go on another extravagant vacation, I'll march into my friendly neighborhood CVS and shout, "I'll take one of everything, and some painkillers, too."

Now, I am eternally thankful for exactly one thing: the general store on Deck 5.  I throw on a sun dress and march out the door.  The first think I notice is that I am walking like I just got off a horse.  I have already had my breakfast and coffee, and even gone to a morning meeting, and I felt fine.  But now, I worry that people are staring.  There is urgency in my stride, but I already walk like a New Yorker about to miss her train, so I don't worry at all as I knock aside old people and the handicapped on my way down the hall.

When I reach the store, I stop and begin to browse the quaint Greek tchotchkes that the ship has for sale.  I marvel at my behavior, since I have come here with one rather urgent item on my shopping list.  I sidle over to the necessaries, and scan the shelves for my saving grace.  I find that I am not surprised when I don't see it.  Of course it's not there.  Of course I am stuck on a boat in the middle of the fucking ocean without Preparation H.  I envision myself marching into the ship's medical facility demanding that the doctors hand over the ass cream, and no one will get hurt.

At last, I see it: a thin yellow box with red writing.  I am saved.  I pick up the box, and instantly wish I was wearing long sleeves.  I later think that it's a good thing I wasn't, because I probably would have been sanctioned for attempted shoplifting.  I hide the box behind my forearm and walk to the counter.  As the cashier rings up my purchase, I try to appear casual.  I attempt to come up with a quip, something clever to break the tension.  Eventually, I decide that this would be in poor taste.

The ass balm is $13.99.  I balk at this highway robbery, but then remember my plane flight, and decide that I would probably be willing to pay for the bottle with a pound of flesh.  I even have some very specific flesh in mind.

In my room again, I hike up my dress sit down on the toilet seat (yup, there's definitely something on my butt), and read the directions.  Of course, they are useless.  I have no idea how much to apply, because all of this is clearly a mistake: I am much too young for hemorrhoids.

In the end, I decide that the "less is more" philosophy is a bunch of crap, and slather the goo on my asshole.  I once more contemplate tossing my cookies, but the urge is more mental than physical.  It's the idea of ass boils that really grosses me out. 

As I ride the elevator up to Deck 11, I feel the Preparation H squelch forward in my crack, and I decide that if I get a yeast infection, I am going to kill somebody.  I ponder what happens to criminals who kill in international waters.

I consider myself to be a very spiritual person--almost a mystic, really.  Therefore, it does not surprise me when I observe myself trying to figure out what I have done to deserve an ass boil.  Have I been cruel to someone?  Are there negative thoughts surging through my body, trying desperately to escape through my asshole?  Does some higher power think that nether growths are some kind of hilarious joke?

I put these thoughts out of my mind, knowing that they will return.  If everything in life has meaning, it is impossible to spend this amount of cogitation on one hemorrhoid.  And yet, as I write this, I find myself praying that I figure it all out before the G-d of human assholes sends me any more to get my attention.  Heavenly Benefactor, rest assured: you have gotten my attention.  And while I have yours, may I suggest you try other methods in the future.  I saw a movie where the television snaps on unbidden and kills people.  I think that will do for now.

In fact, I actually hope that this is some sort of higher message.  I find that rather comforting.  I think my world concept might be shattered by the realization that, sometimes, good people just get hemorrhoids.