On Saturday, Kiefer and some friends ran the Warrior Dash; I did not. Because I don’t like mud. Or wet shoes and socks.
Look at how much mud is on Kiefer. ::shudder::
Once we parked, people kept walking by us into the woods. Thinking it was a short cut to the starting line, I headed in to scope it out.
Only it wasn’t a shortcut…it was a bathroom. And not just for guys, women were doing it, too.
Thoughtsy: (running back to Kiefer whispering) Oh my god, people are peeing in there!
That’s when I realized I had to pee. So I had a choice: Wait in a long line at nasty port-a-potties, or drop my pants behind a tree.
I opted for the tree.
Because I didn’t want to be seen pantsless To be polite, I waited for everyone else to vacate the woods before heading in.
Do I really want to do this? I can’t even remember the last time I peed in the woods. Why break a 20-year-plus streak?
Maybe I should ask someone to come with me? Girls pee in pairs, right? And this seems like a horror movie. What if there’s a crazed killer in these woods? I can’t run away with pants around my ankles. I can see the headline now: Blogger Dies In Her Own Pee.
Ewwww…wet grass just touched my ankle. DID SOMEONE ELSE’S PEE JUST GET ON ME?!?! Please be dew, please just be dew….
Finally, I did it: I peed behind a tree. Then some lady came traipsing into the woods, so I cut it short. At least my bladder was half empty (this is the only time “half empty” is optimistic).
Afterwards, my only comfort was Kiefer. He’s hoping to go camping soon, and my only input into the trip has been: “There has to be a bathroom and shower.”
Kiefer: I can’t believe you did that. I’m so proud of you. I’m seriously impressed. You just made my day.
I think he’s potty training me to go camping.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Serves them right for eating healthy dessert.”—Miss Four Eyes