Wednesday, June 24, 2009

it all makes sense now

It's true, I have a tiny bladder. It's definitely not that which should be in a 25 year old's body. I even convinced myself that my frequent peeing meant that I must have diabetes. I went to the doctor and told her my theory. She basically laughed in my face and said that I drink a lot of water and to stop trying to diagnose myself via the internet.

However, I think i can pinpoint the exact moment when my bladder control went to shit. I was about 12 years old and it was during our yearly torture session, I mean vacation. We used to drive down to Florida because, well, I think my parents liked proving that they had the ability to make our lives awesome or awful depending on their mood. When five people are driving 1300 miles there are bound to be tons of bathroom and food breaks, and this trip was no different. We were somewhere in North Carolina when I announced, "I really have to pee." My dad thinks for a moment and replies, "Okay honey, we'll stop to pee as soon as we get to South of the Border" (which is the first rest stop upon entering South Carolina. I thought it would be fine until I see a sign that lets me know that I will have to wait for OVER FORTY MILES before my dad will stop to let me pee.

Ten miles pass and I am trying to do anything I can to keep my mind off of going to the bathroom. My brothers know this and decide to make water sounds and talk about all things liquid. Thanks bros.

Twenty miles pass and I am not quietly whimpering in the back seat of the car, tugging on my mom's seat and begging her to get my dad to pull over anywhere. At this point even the side of the road would be fine.

Thirty miles pass and I am crying about how I'm going to pee in the car. My brothers are freaking out that I really might pee in the back seat of the Jeep and that they'll have to sit next to me for the rest of the drive.

Forty miles pass and I am now sobbing uncontrollably and my mother has dubbed my father "The Driving Nazi'. I am yelling that this is considered child abuse and once we get home I'm going to call child services. My dad does an excellent job at tuning us out, as always.

Finally, FINALLY we get to South of the Border. I don't think I even waited for my dad to park the car before I was out and running. I came back to the car scowling, so angry at my father that I refused to talk to him for the rest of the drive. It was only years later that I realized that this was a double win for him - he didn't have to stop before South Carolina AND he had silence for the rest of the trip.

Damnit, he's good.


Mrs. Match said...

Ack! I hated road trips as a kid for this very reason. My bladder is terrible. My brother used to torment me the exact same way. Now he has his own little girl, who has a big brother, who will probably do the same thing when they go on road trips. The cycle of torment continues...

Unknown said...

god, the cycle never ends.. never.