So- here's the thing. And I'm not going to mince any words either...
Most of the time... I hate that I have to stop what I'm doing to PEE! Really!!! I mean it. Especially when the thing I have to stop doing is SLEEEEEEPING!
Last night, 3:45am, I am awoken from a deep sleep with a need to, um, pee. I had too much to drink at Starbucks and now needed to GET UP. This doesn't set well with me because for the first night in about 10 nights... I'm actually tired and, well, sleeping. So I change positions and ignore my need to get up.
It doesn't matter though- because as tired as I am near four o'clock in the morning...there is no sleep to be had. ( Sidenote- I really believe that what separates the pottytrained from the un-pottytrained at this point is the understanding that if you ignore your need to get up and be inconvenienced at this point... you are not delaying the pee process... you are merely relocating it... TO YOUR BED!)
I'm happy to report that against all my selfish desires leading me to go back to sleep... I GOT UP. But I wasn't happy about it. In fact- I was quite the opposite and decided to make a mental note at 4:15am to share my displeasure on this topic with you this morning.
Most of the time... I hate that I have to stop what I'm doing to PEE! Really!!! I mean it. Especially when the thing I have to stop doing is SLEEEEEEPING!
Last night, 3:45am, I am awoken from a deep sleep with a need to, um, pee. I had too much to drink at Starbucks and now needed to GET UP. This doesn't set well with me because for the first night in about 10 nights... I'm actually tired and, well, sleeping. So I change positions and ignore my need to get up.
It doesn't matter though- because as tired as I am near four o'clock in the morning...there is no sleep to be had. ( Sidenote- I really believe that what separates the pottytrained from the un-pottytrained at this point is the understanding that if you ignore your need to get up and be inconvenienced at this point... you are not delaying the pee process... you are merely relocating it... TO YOUR BED!)
I'm happy to report that against all my selfish desires leading me to go back to sleep... I GOT UP. But I wasn't happy about it. In fact- I was quite the opposite and decided to make a mental note at 4:15am to share my displeasure on this topic with you this morning.
3 comments:
GIRL...I feel you on this! I recently complained with a friend that I wish I could assign the peeing task to someone else...especially in the middle of a project at work and like you said, at night when the last thing you want to do is meander to the potty in a sleeping stupor!
I got this email today and thought you'd love to make it available on The world of Chelle . . enjoy!
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually
find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place.
Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors.
Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in,
nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, however,
because the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no
doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so
you carefully, but quickly, drape it around your neck because
Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!
Finally, you yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat
or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach
for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In
your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you
had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no
toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse
around your neck). That will have to do. You crumple it
in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than the palm of your hand.
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The
door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of
your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled
tissue in a puddle on the floor. Now you lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT.
It is wet, of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form
on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew.
You're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat
because, "Frankly, dear, you just don't KNOW what kind of
diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a
fire hose against the inside of the bowl. Of course, that sprays a fine mist
of water on your butt, which then runs down your legs and into your shoes.
The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto
the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in, too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.
You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you find in your pocket
and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets withthe automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry
paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at
the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper
trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You
yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her
warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since
entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What
took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a
public restroom (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally
explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their
other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand
you Kleenex under the door!
chelle,
as a 28 year old w/ the bladder of a child, I feel your pain. it's such an inconvenience that I would stop drinking altogether if I wasn't thirsty all the time. They should invent a magic pill for this.
keith m
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