I am a firm believer in push-pull, on-off type relationships. Balance, if you will. However, what makes me want to scratch the inside of my eyelids is when these yin yang (not the Twins) moments bump into karma, thus taking one relatively positive aspect of my life and pairing it with an equal-yet-annoying trait. Like a Oreo from hell.
I submit to the jury the fact that I like water. A lot, in fact. I drink up to two gallons a day (water, people…water). Nature handles this in an appropriate fashion, something that I’ve grown to accept. However, there seems to be an unfair balance between the amount of water that I consume and how often I need to void. Point being: I can hold it if I need to.
Unfortunately for me, I married The World’s Smallest Bladder™. If we are out to eat, she will undoubtedly visit the ladies room more than once during the meal, once when we get there (the 10 minute car ride is a doozey, apparently), and once before we leave. And then again whenever we get to our next destination. All I can say is I couldn’t be happier to have found a woman who doesn’t drink The Beer. Because the thought of bar-hopping with The World’s Smallest Bladder™ makes me want to do that thing with the eyelids again.
I have never fully accepted this Teeny Weeny Bladder scam, but nonetheless have to live with it. I curse and fuss, much like my father used to on car trips when I was a child and someone, GOD FORBID someone needed to use the restroom ONCE in 10 hours. If only you could witness the look that I get from The World’s Smallest Bladder™ when I suggest that she just learn how to pee in a bottle so that I don’t have to stop the friggin car at yet another rest stop. Obviously, I now see where my camel-like tendencies stem from, as well as my current impatience with frequent urination. (thanks Dad!)
Enter Jonas. Spawn of The World’s Smallest Bladder™, he has somehow assimilated her “technique” and now finds it of utmost hilarity to ring the bell to go out every 3-5 minutes. And it wouldn’t be bad if he just grazed it, but no. He indeed pulls out all the guns, and plays a living room game of Whack-a-Mole with them, producing a clanging cacophony that makes my fingers itch with desire to do that thing with the eyelids again. And what I cannot figure out is just where he learned this. He’s only once had a mistake in his crate overnight, and is left every day for 10 hours without once slipping up. It is proven by history alone that this dog can indeed handle his liquid. Hell, I bet he would even do fine with The Beer and might be a good bar-hopping buddy (note to self…). But where his newfound urgency to pee has come from, I haven’t a clue. Maybe he and The World’s Smallest Bladder™ hold secret club meetings in their treehouse when I’m in bed, to discuss their sneaky tactics to drive me straight into insanity (with no pee breaks, naturally).
All I know is that yet again, a once positive aspect of my life has been unfairly been paired with an opposing one, like peanut butter with. And people, the jelly has to go because it’s bringin’ the peanut butter down. I say that it’s high time that we stop accepting jelly and frequent urination as acceptable entities in our society! Rise! Go forth and spread the news!
Actually, can we take a potty break first? I’ve had WAY too much coffee this morning. Just a sec…
