Summary

The website content is a humorous personal essay by Jennifer J. McDougall, where she reveals three quirky and unconventional facts about herself.

Abstract

In a candid and comedic article, Jennifer J. McDougall shares three peculiar and intimate details about her life, including her legendary dance moves, an incident of mischief involving peeing in someone else's underwear, and being the source of loud noises akin to air brakes from a truck. She admits to being late to join a writing challenge but uses her writer's block as an opportunity to entertain her three loyal fans with these personal anecdotes. McDougall's writing style is unapologetically bold and self-deprecating, as she recounts her misadventures with a sense of humor and a touch of sarcasm.

Opinions

McDougall views her dance skills as legendary, comparing herself to the offspring of Shakira and Fred Astaire, yet acknowledges that public displays are often misinterpreted.
She reflects on a past prank where she peed in her sister's friend's underwear as a form of revenge, recognizing it as a bad decision but sharing it as a humorous story.
The author is unashamed of her bodily functions, likening her flatulence to the sound of a truck's air brakes, and finds humor in the embarrassment such moments can cause.
McDougall expresses a rebellious attitude towards writing norms and challenges, preferring to write on her own terms and share unfiltered personal stories.
She shows a playful interaction with her children, who are both amused and embarrassed by her candidness and humor regarding personal matters.
The essay concludes with McDougall inviting her readers to join her in embracing her quirks, suggesting a sense of community and shared laughter among her audience.

NONSENSE

3 Things You Really Didn’t Want To Know About Me

Late to the challenge is better than never

I’m full of something that helped the old Hindenberg up…Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I’m late for the party.

The Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Me was all the rage — before the Spring Equinox. I burned the invite in last weekend’s bonfire. Should I say Sorry?

Usually, Scourge of the Earth Challenges send me rushin’ to Russia with a few puppies for Vladimir. I buck trends. And authority. And the border guards who won’t let me into Vlad’s bed-chamber let alone behind the Iron Curtain.

But I’m short on writing material. Desperate to appease my three fans. So my writer’s block has momentarily disabled itself.

Anyone who has ever read any of my c̶r̶a̶p̶ brilliance knows I’m a tell-all kinda gal. What haven’t I shared? These 3 things at least.

1. My dance moves are legendary

Few know that I’m the long-lost lovechild of Shakira and Fred Astaire’s frozen sperm.

Of course, my kids understand this. They crawl into their hoodies when my Flash Mob living room dance parties start.

But the general public? I only perform if more than half a dozen bottles of tequila have entered my system. And usually, by then I’m being rolled into emergency and straight towards a stomach pump.

But here is what people have said about me. The two comments that I remember.

“Is that stripper-wannabe having a seizure?”

“If she’d wiggled like that during childbirth maybe she wouldn’t have needed a C-section.”

Truth? I actually love dancing. I’m not half bad at it. At least that’s what the American fleet in Bangkok shouted as they dragged me onto the stage. What to do if you see my hips thrusting to a beat that may only be in my own head?Know that you’ve hit the jackpot of deep, dark Secret Jen. You’re in. Join me.

2. I peed in someone else’s undies

I’ve made some bad decisions.

The remote tossed at my ex’s noggin. The time I dumped a truckload of unwashed cans of Libby’s beans and sticky pop cans — onto my roomie’s bed. She’d “forgotten” to take recycling to the curb. For over a month.

And once I purposefully wet my sister’s best friend’s gotchies.

Irritated and annoyed by this bossy brat, I gave in to my younger sister’s suggestion. I furtively heisted panties from the pal’s overnight bag. Yanked off all of the clothing below my belt and donned hers. Then, straddling a clawfoot bathtub, I let my morning’s worth of waste pour into her panties.

It’s disgusting. And wrong.

Are your eyes burning after reading those last 6 sentences? Watch me boogie. Still burning? It’s about to get worse.

3. I’ve been mistaken for a Class 7 with air brakes

You know that thwacking crack you hear when some tanker with air brakes comes harrumphing to a halt? At first, you think, well, yes, that could be rapid gunfire from the window of Billy Bob’s Pontiac. Until you realize it’s just a transport hauling something heavier than your granny’s new scooter.

“Yeah, you know the sound,” affirms my son. “But in our case, it ain’t no eighteen-wheeler.”

“But there IS gas being hauled,” giggles my daughter. “Straight from mom’s intestines.”

‘Nuff said. Stinky? Rarely. Then again my aged sense of smell might not be as fabulous as it once was. But loud enough to wake the dead? Probably.

Why am I embarrassed? I’ve written about farting during oral sex, for Goddess’s sake.

Late for the party? Sure. But I’m hosting one of my own. And I’m hoping all three of you — my uttermost incredible fans — will be there. There’ll be enough booze so we all get a shake-on.

Inspired by Oscar Rhea’s My Unexpected Sabbatical.

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