Months ago, I was coming home from work taking a back route through a quiet little neighborhood, when I saw a man and his boy exiting a large truck that had just parked in front of a house that I assumed was theirs. As if they had just pulled up to a giant aluminum trough in a public restroom, the little boy, around 3 or so, pulled his pants down and started taking a piss on the street, in front of the truck, his dad, a 3 bedroom 2 bathroom townhouse, me, and the rest of the fucking neighborhood! When the boy was finished, his dad (if you can call him that), came over and practically congratulated the kid before they disappeared into the house. Yes, the house with at least two bathrooms. I mean, they didn't look like they were in a hurry. Their faces carried no signs of desperation, necessity, or worry, akin to people who can't wait a second longer before their bladder explodes. As nonchalant as their emergence on the scene, the public display of urinary transgression was as equally of no concern or consequence. They acted completely normal, as if this were a daily occurrence, (which probably was) as if this were just another trip to the bathroom by a Father and Son at half time, during a Sunday football game. Right when you think you've seen it all.
I began to wonder about my childhood and all the questionable places I had peed. (once on my own leg to quell a jelly fish sting) Hell, I began to sift through all of the adult files as well, including all the accounts of inebriated, piss-poor decision making at sporting events, BBQ's, parties, nightclubs, and tail gaters; not even leaving out any testosterone fueled Dares from intoxicated peers. I'm a guy, after all, my plumbing allows me the freedom to take advantage of certain bladder relieving discretions if you will. If they can be avoided, of course we'd rather not pee in this alley, behind that car, or in the corner of this parking garage, or in the Gatorade bottle I'll have to stare at for the next few hours of our road trip. (So warm in your lap) But if it can't, well as they say, when Nature calls . . . . . you best be answering, because she doesn't like to leave long, detailed messages that take up a lot of space on your answering machine and everybody knows that's rude and inconsiderate and God help you if you haven't called her back in 3 days after you took her to dinner the last time and she invited you in for a night cap, which ended up with you in her bed, making awesome