YOU KNOW URINE TROUBLE WHEN.....

Last night, as I was driving home from the big city, the urge to pee kicked in. Damn that Diet Coke from Quik Trip. Damn the coffee at Border’s. Damn all the water I drank at home before I left because the doctor says fluids will help to prevent any more kidney stones. Here I was between El Dorado and Eureka having to pee so badly I could practically taste it.

Now, those of you who know this stretch of highway might be saying, “Hey, Pee Head, there’s a rest stop about 10 miles east of El Dorado. Just go empty your bulging bladder there.” But I quit stopping at this particular place at night after a blood-curdling incident about two years ago when I pulled over to throw away some leftover Taco Bell and a cat leaped out of the trash receptacle just as my hand was going in, which almost scared the liver out of me--and the cat. The rest stop is poorly lit and you never know what’s lurking behind a bush waiting for some pathetic woman traveling alone with a pee urge.

So, I would forge ahead. I could do this. When I was a teacher, I had trained myself to “hold it in” for long periods of time since leaving 15-20 teenagers alone, unsupervised in a classroom, was against the rules--and rightly so. I wasn’t going to risk chaos just to relieve myself. --Onward to Eureka. If I got really desperate, I would pull over on a side road, grab the roll of Charmin in the backseat, and hope that no friendly deer or coyotes were nearby.

I made it down Cattleman’s Hill, then Reece Hill--nine miles to home. I began working out the math in my head. Let’s see, at 70 miles per hour until I reached the city limits, I could maybe be in the bathroom in less than ten minutes. I could probably do it. And if worse came to worse, I could stop at the ALCO at the edge of town. No, that wouldn’t work. Once I got out of the car, I’d probably start to gush and I’d have to run through the parking lot and in the store with my fingers plugged between my legs, and that would not be good. I’d keep going.

Past ALCO, over the bridge, into the city limits. Aaaaah! Then, boom! My car tires go over every damned rut and pothole that greets drivers into town. Crap! Hold it in, hold it in. I can do it. One more minute, one more minute. “Sonuva”--I manage to perfectly hit the one and only stoplight in town!! Hold my breath. Hurry, hurry, hurry! On my mark, get set, eight and one-half more blocks to go!

Well, the end of the story is that I rolled into the driveway, dashed out of the car, threw open the back door of the house, stumbled over a few cats, and got to the bathroom just in the nick of time.

I think it would be a heckuva lot easier just to invest in a box of Depends.