This is a story about my bladder. Her name is Urethra Franklin. She controls my life. She always has, and I fear she always will.
Every time I arrive at a new destination, the first thing Urethra Franklin does is look for the closest toilet. This can be a real inconvenience at rodeos, kids’ sporting events and construction sites. But Urethra Franklin doesn’t care. She will make friends with any hole in the ground or bush or port-o-potty in town. She’s social like that. But she’s also a bit of a nuisance and a little selfish. She never thinks of me, and how much I might not like peeing all over my feet when I am squatting behind a bush. It makes for itchy ankles dammit!
And she has no regard for the damage a port-o-potty causes my olfactory glands. Also, I don’t know why, but I enter one of those nasty things and my inner dialogue goes something like this: “Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.” I look down every time. The port-o-potty poopers are never constipated are they? I guess that makes sense. Constipated folks would probably always be able to hold their poop until they reach a respectable facility.
Sorry. How gross. My pee blog has turned into a poop blog. Back to Urethra Franklin and her hold on my life.
It’s so bad that if I were a creepy astronaut who needed to drive across the country to stalk my love triangle rival, Urethra Franklin would absolutely scoff at those NASA issued nappies. Oh no. She’d want to go straight to a catheter. Catheter with a Hefty Cinch Sak attached to it because Urethra Franklin would laugh, maniacally, at any and all hospital issued catheters. She knows her limits, what can I say?
Here’s a brief look at how it all started:
In the early 70’s when I was 3 months old, I had to have surgery to correct a bladder issue. I couldn’t pee. So my tiny baby body on the inside was turning into a little garbage dump where the waste was just hanging out with nothing to do and nowhere to go. (Much like David Hasselhoff’s career.) The surgery broke the dam and the pee flowed and I was a perfect little baby again. BUT my bladder capacity has sucked ever since.
Fast forward to the present day, (post birthing 3 babies) and there is no more laughing, coughing, trampoline bouncing or leap frogging unless I’ve got my Poise in place. Damn. I’d never make it as Super Mario, I’d have to change my diaper before the end of each level. And the clock would run out and Bowser would win. Again and again and again.
Thanks Urethra. Where is the R-E-S-P-E-C-T?