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?
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’)