Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Day 267: A lesson on how to turn 15 minutes into an eternity.

The walk from my brother’s house to mine is about 15 minutes.
I had dinner there with my parents and decided to walk home.
Along the way I saw many things worth writing into my notebook.
Post worthy things.
And all I could think was:
Oh. Dear. God. I have to pee. Exclamation point.
Swigging a beer and heading out the door ten minutes later – mistake, mistake.
I could do this, I thought.
I passed at least 7 cafes. With bathrooms
But I decided to be prissy about it and wait until I got to my clean washroom at home.
(If you haven’t figured it out yet: I am my very own worst enemy).
I walked. And walked some more.
It’s amazing how the mind fixates on how you have to pee and nothing else.
I have had a cramp in my thigh since yesterday, and blisters from my sandals.
Still, all my mind could decipher was the insistent tinkle bell, ringing like a five alarm.
The distance between me and my pearly white bowl felt like a marathon route.
And I was like a slow horse-drawn carriage with blinkers and blinders on.
(Did I mention the cramp?).
A cute guy smiled at me as I passed him in the park and the only reply I could manage was a wide eyed grimace while biting my lower lip.
Damn you, tinkle fairies, I said shaking a raised fist.
Truthfully, to demonstrate the gravity of the situation, if George Clooney himself asked me for directions, I would smack him upside the head with my purse.
No time.
Having to pee that bad will bring out the crazy in everyone.
Half way there, I surveyed the perimeter, my eyes moving like darts in a saloon.
But before I could even finish my thought…
You will not stop at that gas station; you are a LADY, god dammit!
said a voice that sounded eerily like my Aunt Irene.
I mentally cursed all the men in the world who could just relieve themselves in bushes, corners or alleyways.
Short deep breaths, Tanya-- just... be careful on that exhale.
I turn the corner and see my building.
The angels begin to sing... and then the record skips and scratches to a halt.
(Not literally, I won’t stoop to writing about that just yet. C’mon. I’m a LADY).
There she was.
Chatty neighbor. Front stairwell. Gardening.
She begins to lament leisurely about how sad it is that the peonies are dead.
While holding a hose.
“C’est dommage.”
Sure, George Clooney you smack, but the old lady you can stop and talk to. Why are you single again? said a voice that sounded eerily like my own.(See above RE: my own worst enemy).
I barely made it up the three flights of stairs. But I made it.
And, ladies and gents, my bathroom has never looked more welcoming.
Hot diggity dog, was I ever happy to see it.
I won’t tell you the rest, because I’m a LADY!
And a lady doesn't discuss such matters.


  1. Erm... Heartiest congratulations Milady...?

  2. Lady or not, I think I would have gone in the bushes! (Giggle)

  3. I would have opted for one of the cafes. Not worth risking a bladder infection.