Monday, August 24, 2009

UR ine The Right Place!

Have you ever peed outside? Now this question is mostly for the ladies because probably every male in history has peed outside for some reason, or maybe just because he could. Now, for us women it is a considerable feat. The thigh muscles required to squat deep enough to miss your chonies coupled with the tenacity of holding up your shirt/skirt for the duration means that you must be made of cast-iron! When I was working as an archaeologist, my coworkers would steal off into a wooded area and I was always in awe of their ability to pee outside, the audacity to do so, and the lack of class required. Luckily, I can hold it like a camel holds water, so it was never an issue. That stems from my germ OCD, but we’ll cover that another time. So, when I found myself in the campo in Ecuador needing to go as bad as anyone ever has, I was left with no other choice. My comp was off peeing in the distance and I very uncomfortably searched for something behind which I could hide. No luck. So, I squatted over my ill-chosen, ill-fated Doc Martens and did what a missionary had to do. No sooner had I overcome my peeing-in-the-open stage fright than I heard some voices approaching. My head shot to the right and through the shrubbery I saw a group of women. “Oh no!” I thought to myself. “They’ve formed a mob to lynch me for being a North American and disrespecting their homeland!” It was a reasonable fear; we had been called “whores” in the street on the way up. As the mob grew closer (and if I recall correctly, they were carrying torches and chanting something like “kill the pig, slit her throat, bash her in!”) I tried to finish peeing, pull up my chones and drop my skirt, all at once. The Docs did not fare well during the debacle, but at least I looked respectable as the mob walked past me, having dropped their torches, quit their chanting, and seemed to ignore me. It even appeared as though they were not a mob at all; just 2 or 3 women walking with some cows. But I knew better. After my first experience (and seeing citizens, male and female, doing everything in the street---even a woman pooping over a sewer grate in the middle of the city in the middle of the day), peeing in a deserted field became much easier. So easy, actually, that upon my return, I was able to pee in the woods with the best of archaeologists. And not a few weeks ago, Darby and I were swimming in the pool out back and, well, it seemed a shame to drag her out of the water and trek all through the house just to use the bathroom. “Hey, Frankie,” I said, with a slight grin. “Don’t mow in that corner.” His eyes widened as I floated away on my pink flower noodle.

Have you ever peed outside? When, where, and why?


  1. I don't need to tell you about my worst peeing memory. You were with me. And you had the bottle of Purell waiting when I came out. That's what a friend is for.

    But you never told me that you peed before. I would've thought you incapable. My eyes have been opened. I see the truth!!

    Did you carry TP around with you too?

  2. I remember sending Joey a tiny box of toilet seat covers when he was in Guatemala.
    I know I have peed outside before, but for some reason I cannot remember anything else other than the fact that I have. Can you remember me peeing outside?

  3. My thighs are as steel, my aim is sure...most of the time. I have found, with all my outside peeing experience, that it's more difficult to squat and pee with pants on than with a skirt. I also feel compelled to warn anyone peeing in Western Washington to beware wiping with any of the beautiful leaves that are so abuntant in that area. Chances are you'll either grab stinging nettle or a prickly blackberry leaf, neither of which will leave you walking normal.

  4. Haley. . .Don't forget the Poison Oak. It wouldn't be the Pacific Northwest without that be-spotted 3-leafed b*$ch. I can tell you with 100% honesty (te testifico con todos los fibres de mi ser) that having a poison oak rash on your butt and "more delicate areas" is as close to hell as you can get.


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