So frequently would Kim disappear during parties and gatherings that the size of her bladder was a running joke among friends and family.
“It’s like a pea!” she’d agree.
What she couldn’t tell them was that she escaped to bathrooms to decompress when every minute of a loud, busy gathering began to feel like an inky fathom.
“Nature calls!” she’d say cheerfully, slipping away.
Sitting on the toilet within some tiled Nautilus, she’d close her eyes, lean forward and, with hands over her ears, listen to the sound of her breath until the pressure eased and her dents popped out.
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