Our life is sometimes like the amazing race. We wake up in one place, race all day to another, then shoot some sessions. It is not very odd for us to wake up, drive 8 hours, and arrive a half an hour before our first shoot.
This leaves very little time for eating (“the incident”) and potty breaks. We pee as fast as NASCAR pits change tires. We pull off an exit, open both passenger side doors to create a stall of sorts, and let fly. Belle is the biggest exhibitionist of the lot so she doesn’t always concern herself with the stall.
But sometimes there is not time even for the NASCAR pee...
We are on our way to Seattle. Our GPS tells us we will arrive at the exact moment our first shoot starts. Our GPS is not like Google Maps. Google Maps tells you five hours when it means three. Our GPS tells us five hours and it means do not stop at all, ever. Drive like you just stole this car. Run over grandmas, go 100, and then, maybe, it will take you five and a half hours.
So it is under this pressure that we travel. Our onboard computer tells us we will run out of gas three miles after we get to the place. The traffic is flowing. We might just meet the prediction.
Then the half gallon of water I drank with lunch begins exerting itself on my bladder. We are two hours out so there is no way I am going to be able to hold it. I know that the NASCAR pee is out so I do the only thing I can. I find a cup and get to work. The cup is 32 ounces so I have plenty of lee way. To my horror, I fill the cup almost to the brim.
The gentle sway of the road is the tensest moment of my month as I struggle to get the cap back on. The red straw sticks out of the cup. I should probably have taken it out. But it is too late given what the lower half is stewing in.
I put it in the cup holder and sigh. No pee hands. No aching bladder. Life is good. I settle into the ride. I enjoy the road as only one that was been forced into such action can.
A half hour passes.
Wendy reaches over and picks up the cup.
I watch out of my periphery.
“I sure am thirsty!” She says in a voice that is a little guilty of overacting.
I smirk. Gross? Yes. Funny? Double yes.
The cup raises ever closer to her mouth. “Ok,” I say, acknowledging the joke.
The red straw is about a quarter inch from her mouth when I realize that she is not joking. I hit her hand and the cup away from her mouth hard. I panic that the cup is going to fly into the window, but Wendy’s grip is firm.
She glares at me, “What is your probl...?” Her angry is replaces by gagging as she realizes that she is holding warm pee and not cold coke. She sets it down and we both realize how close we just came to a place that no married couple should ever go.
And in relief, we laugh so hard that we almost crash. And I vow to take the straw out next time. Because, there will be a next time.
Well, our life is sometimes like a race, maybe not such an amazing one.
From Vancouver, BC.