Potty Talk

During our 346 mile drive to the west side for a state playoff football game, this conversation happened between me and my husband:

G: Do you have to pee? 

H: I always have to pee.

G: (Pulls out of the fog to yet another rest area.)

H: Crap! It’s only portables. I hate those. 

G: Yeah I know. 

H: (entering a portable) It’s better than peeing on the road. Though this trip I remembered to bring a giant plastic cup for emergency road stops so that I don’t pee on my shoes. Guys are so lucky. 

G: (entering the other portable)Yeah.

H: (exiting the portable with a grimace on her face) Street peeing would have been better. I may or may not have peed on my shoes

G: Do I dare ask ‘how on earth’?

H: You wouldn’t understand.

G: But I’m sure you’re going to try and explain.

H: The seat was totally covered in pee before I got there and there was no place to hang my purse. 

G: Well THAT explains it.

H: And the shirt Im wearing is super long. See?

G: 

H: I can do two and sometimes three things at once. But never four. 

G: (picture thought bubbles above his head filled with question marks floating around  the words ‘why am I with this woman’)

H: (Counting with fingers for emphasis) 1)Hold purse 2)hold up shirt 3) hesitantly squat/lunge to pee over a rather high toilet seat 4)aim 5) reach for TP with purse hand See?

G: The next five miles we need to watch for elk

H: (Watches for elk for five miles, worried about any elk getting hurt, but luckily doesn’t see any, so she’s pretty sure that was just code for ‘stop talking about pee’)