The other day I woke up at 6:30 in the morning, and I desperately had to pee. I quickly scooted out of bed to head to the bathroom, but the door was closed. My roommate was using it.
That selfish bastard.
While it is true that I live in a home with only one toilet, that fact had never seriously come into play previous to this moment of urinary trial. I waited. And waited. And waited. I listened for signs that he might be finishing up in there – “Okay, he’s done shaving. He’s probably done in there now. Blast! He turned the shower on!” As the urgent pressure was building up against the inner wall of my bladder I tried to take my mind off the pain. I read for a while, walked around, tried to go back to sleep, and prepared for my day, but all such diversionary tasks were accompianied by a throbbing tidal wave of pee yearning for release.
Maybe some of you ladies out there are suggesting that I might have gone to the bathroom while he was in the shower. Such women are idiotic fools who know nothing of the male psyche. Yes, my roommate was behind the shower curtain, but this proposal is futile because it provides for the chance, however miniscule, that we might accidentally observe another man’s body. I mean seriously, I might have seen his upper thigh or something.
So I continued waiting and writhing amidst the agony of stifled urine. I briefly considered some radical measures such as peeing in the backyard, peeing into the sink, or peeing into a large cup that I would then pour into the backyard while loudly exclaiming, “Man, this lemonade sucks!” to avoid being caught. In order to really sell it, though, I would then take a gulp and yell even louder, “This is beyond awful! It tastes as if this isn’t lemonade at all, but in fact my own urine, still warm from my body! I’m never buying this brand of lemonade again!”
34 minutes later (no joke), when my roommate finally finished up, I stumbled frantically into the bathroom and emptied the contents of my swollen bladder into the toilet basin. With a troublingly loud groan I made my pleasure known to the neighborhood. There is nothing like the pleasure known to those who finally release their pee after 34 minutes of choked agony. It’s something akin to biting into a Hot Pocket filled with spring-loaded rammen noodles and human blood.
…I feel startled and troubled by the sentance I just wrote, and I feel that I should stop there. Goodbye.