Saturday, August 9, 2008

The knot

That one. That one you create no matter how carefully you are trying to undo your pants. Your brain has already given your bladder the heads-up, she's in the toilet vicinity, I repeat ... she is in the toilet vicinity, get ready to go, and in the final moments of getting your pants down you pace yourself. You're now busting. You know all you have to do is get your pants off. But there's always that ONE pair of pants (track pants, of course) with the drawstrings that are designed to knot. The fabric attracts knots. You don't know how, but it actually has little knots along each side, from times past where you have infuriatedly decided that that'll do, it will just have to stay knotted.

And you stand there. A little bit of sweat starts to form on your top lip from the effort of keeping your bladder paused, trying desperately not to think about just how very very very MUCH you need to go, now that you are right next to the toilet. But you can't. Oh no, because the knot to end all knots stands between your derriƩre feeling air and sweet relief.

These days, you can't even do this in private. You have an audience. One little pair of toddling eyes. Ever so ready to boogy and break out anything that looks relatively like a dance move, even if there is no music. So the very reason why your pelvic floor is the abysmal way it is joins you in your hip swivel (that you are trying to keep to a minimum so that you can keep the knot steady as you work at it with your trembling fingers). You will never. Ever. Drink water again while wearing pants. You promise.

And right now, you're all wondering if I'm sitting in a puddle of my own wizz, aren't you? Well... wouldn't you just like to know. But that would be telling. And I don't tell.

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