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’)
peaceof8 