September 13, 2009

Potty time, excellent!

Last night we had the good fortune to see a spectacular fireworks display, thanks to the fireworks conventioneers that brought their talents back to Fondy for the 4th time in 10 years. It was an absolutely PERFECT night for them - the stars were out, it was about 65 degrees, low humidity - and they didn't disappoint. We had a marvelous time.

That time was cut a little short, however, by a bathroom emergency. My sister Jen, brother in-law Mike, and two nieces Natalie and Mia accompanied Brian and me, and we met our friends Todd and Dawn there. We were all having a great time when Jen announced that Nat REALLY had to go. We said very quick good-byes to Todd & Dawn (sorry about that, by the way!) and we high-tailed it to the car, about a 1/4 mile away. Everyone made it, thankfully, but there were not one but two very busy bathrooms in our house when we got home.

And that got me thinking this morning at 1 a.m., when I was rudely awakened by my bladder: in spite of all of our technological advances and modern conveniences, when nature comes a-knockin', one must heed that call. There's no getting around it. Yes, there are adult diapers, but even in this age when pretty much anything goes, my guess is that most people aren't going to go so far as to make them a permanent accessory.

We all like to think we're in control, but this most basic of functions reminds us thrice daily that we truly are not. Think back to a time when you were in a public place, probably in a hurry, and you were DESPERATE for a bathroom. It was probably when you were standing in line to board your flight, or stuck on the interstate in traffic, or in a very important meeting with a client. I know you're all thinking about that time right now, aren't you? And it's a horrible feeling, isn't it? It's the reason that the kid in kindergarten who couldn't quite hold it became the object of so much ridicule - the rest of us were just so happy it didn't happen to us (actually, your truly was the protagonist in that story, I'm sorry to say).

Guys, I'm sure you've had your share of these moments but I'm going to pity the ladies more in this case. It's a little hard to feel sorry for you men, you who can call Earth your own personal urinal. You who can, with a little practice, write your name in perfect cursive. Call me with your sob story when you're 20th in line at the bathroom during intermission or wear white pants on the wrong day. Can I get a 'what what', sisters?

I have a couple friends who are pregnant right now, and I can only imagine what that must be like! I don't have to worry (yet) about peeing when I laugh. But at least you have a good excuse. I look forward to the day when I'm an eccentric 90 year-old and I could care less that my butt looks like someone stuffed 5 rolls of crepe paper in my elastic-waisted slacks, thanks to my ill-fitting Depends. Good times.

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