I sometimes pee when I’m sleepwalking, but I’m not the only inappropriate pisser in my house. I’m not talking about my dog either. My wife uses urine as a weapon, not just on me, on strangers. One time we were drinking at The Woods. The bar takes its name seriously. The seats are stumps, there’s a mural of a forest behind the bar, and all of the paneling is – yeah, you fucking guessed it:
The only redeeming quality is their happy hour. Hardly anyone goes to it, so you pretty much have the place to yourself. You just have to leave before the hipsters descend. The hipsters are assholes, and not ironically. They shove and sneer in their skinny jeans and skinny suspenders.
This particular night, we failed to vacate early. Some friends had come to meet us, and we were sitting on this long, communal booth against the wall. The hipsters kept squeezing in, and my wife kept getting nudged further and further away from our table. Twice Jess asked the girls to please stop pushing. She got dirty looks and eye rolls.
I suggested we leave, but our friends had just ordered new drinks, so I went to the bar and stood next to people who smelled like cigarettes and candy.
After about ten minutes, My wife ran up to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me in. She whispered, “We have to go now.”
“I just… We need to.”
Her eyes were wild and giddy. “I peed on their purses.”
I looked down. Her skirt seemed dry. “I…don’t… You…?”
“Yes, and we have to go. Now.”
We walked out, turned the corner. I asked her to tell me what happened.
“They kept pushing. Kept pushing. Then they started tossing their purses in a big pile. Right next to me. Kept pushing. I said, ‘Please don’t. Please stop.’ And one of them looked me right in the eye and she pushed again. So I waited a couple of minutes…lifted my skirt, angled and…I PEED! ALL OVER THEIR STUPID FUCKING PURSES!”
History told me she was telling the truth.
Two years ago, we’d gone to a wedding in Palm Springs. We were just out of grad school and broke, so we couldn’t afford a hotel. We were planning on not drinking and driving back to L.A. after the ceremony, but are friends offered to put us up in their room and we were having fun. Then we had more fun, like eight glasses of fun. We caught up to the other drinkers and raced past them to buffoonery. Jess dropped her wine glass on the dance floor. I dropped mine next. Parents had to grab their kids so they wouldn’t cut themselves.
Luckily, the reception was winding down. We were told there was an after party a house someone had rented. One of my friends handed me directions on a piece of paper.
I shouldn’t have been driving, but I was told the house was only minutes away. Within a few blocks, we were lost. I was so drunk I couldn’t read the words on the piece of paper. Neither could my wife. I found a McDonald’s parking lot, drove in, and tried to pull it together.
After few minutes, I said, “Okay, give me the directions. I can do this.”
“Jess, it’s fucking late. Just give them to me. I shouldn’t even be driving.”
“No, we don’t need them.”
“What are you talking about? We don’t know Palm Springs. We don’t live here. We don’t know where this house is, and I don’t want to get pulled over by the cops.”
“We don’t have the directions.”
“Yes, I just gave them to you. Now give them to me.”
“Fine!” She pulled out some soaking wet paper, the ink smeared and unreadable.
“What the fuck is this?”
“I peed on it.” She sounded proud.
“What? Why – why would you pee on the directions?”
“I don’t know!”
“I-I-I don’t even know how to try and comprehend what’s happening here. Why did you pee on the directions?!”
“I put them under my leg so I wouldn’t lose them, and I must have forgotten when I peed.”
“Whyyyyyyy were you peeing in the car?!”
“I don’t know! Stop yelling! I’m sorry. I just started going and I couldn’t stop.”
Jess was crying. I felt bad.
She said, “What do we do now? I ruined everything.”
“No, it’s okay. We’re okay.” I had my cell phone. I could’ve called up my friends, but I no longer wanted to go. Jess was covered in pee. I was done driving. We simply crawled in the backseat. I covered her with my jacket and held her tight. I kissed the back of her head.
“You better not pee on me.”
What about you? Ever tinkled in public?
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/andy_burkholder/8207516333/”>Andy Burkholder</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/jeremybrooks/2260547281/”>Jeremy Brooks</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>