Urine For a Good Time

dog-pee-urine-sample

Splish Splash!

It was bad enough that my shepherd’s pie ‘leaked’ all over my bag because I didn’t put it in a secure enough container (thus leaving a ‘meaty’ scent to my agenda and most recent copy of Psychologie Heute). But then, while using the ladies’ room earlier, I was ‘startled’ by the paper dispenser, mid-stream, as it fell on me. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if I were actually sitting down, which I never do in a public restroom… unless I’m heavily intoxicated… and, even then, there’s a thought-process that usually goes on, weighing my risks. I imagine it goes something like this: “okay, I rrrrrreally have to pee… ohmagawd, I’ve had waaaaay too much to drink… if I squat, I might get pee on my leg, my clothes, the floor… buuuut, if I sit, I might end up with someone else’s pee on me, or, even worse, some sort of  rash or fungus… do I wanna take that risk? Do I?  No, but really… doooo I???” And, usually, by then, I’m already peeing while in that half-way position because my bladder doesn’t give a shit what I think and it’s telling my urethra to do what it needs to do: RELEASE THE URINE!

Despite the fact that I learned (from the stalls in elementary school), “no use standing on the seat, the crabs in here jump 10 feet”, and that I know that the risks of catching something from a toilet seat are minimal, I’m always betting on the fact that, like so many people these days, the crabs (or whatever is colonizing on those seats) are just too damned lazy to jump, so half-standing is a preventative measure. And so it was earlier, in the public toilets at work, when I half-stood and was startled mid-stream… causing the formerly-known-as-coffee to miss the target, and leaving me with the knowledge that I have urine on my trousers for the next 5 hours. It’s going to be a long afternoon….

 

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I haven’t been writing as much as I would like to… or rather, as much as I NEED to. For me, this is therapeutic recreation – a way to purge the ideas and thoughts I have that no person I know gives a fuck about. So many times, I’ve wanted to log on and write, but I felt like my thoughts weren’t ‘good enough’ –that if I were to commit them to the internet, they should, at the very least, be somewhat worth the time… especially someone else’s time, should they come across them.
But today, I had a liberating realization: you, dear reader, have the luxury of clicking me away. You can save yourself. Your time. I, on the other hand, am stuck with myself. With my thoughts…. with the damp of urine still on my trouser leg… with my bag smelling of meat and corn and mashed tatties.

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