“There are two kinds of women. Those who pee outside and those who don’t.” ~ Unknown
Personally, I’ve always been in a “pee outside” type of woman.
It started 50 years ago, when my first husband introduced me and our three little girls to the wonders of outdoor camping.
It was cheap—and because we had a pickup truck, it was easy to do.
However, three little girls (all under the age of five) made peeing kind of a problem.
One time, it was so cold outside that my girls didn’t want to leave the camper to go to the outhouse.
That was when I invented the “Pee in a Cup” alternative.
It worked fine when I remembered to bring small, disposable cups, but not so much when we had to use “real” cups.
One time, I put the three little cups of pee outside the camper door, fully intending to take them to the outhouse to empty them later.
But I forgot.
“Look Mommy!” my youngest said, pointing to the frozen cups of pee. “Pee-popsicles!”
I have to admit, it’s been a while since I’ve actually, truly peed outside—and by “a while,” I mean about 20 years.
But sometimes, necessity causes us to forget such things.
Me: Honey, I have to pee.
Him: We’re out in the middle of nowhere—can you wait?
Me: ‘Til when?
Him: ‘Til we get to a rest area or a McDonald’s.
Me: I don’t think so.
Him: You’re kidding.
Me: No, I’m not kidding. I’m 75 years old. Waiting is not an option.
Him: Well, what do you want me to do?
Me: Get off on the next exit ramp, and I’ll pee by the side of the road.
Him: What if somebody sees?
Me: If they see, I’ll just wave. Besides, they won’t see.
Him: How do you know?
Me: Because I’m going to get out from the passenger side, so I can leave the door open and pee behind the door.
Him: Okay. Are you sure?
Me: I’m sure. I’ve done it hundreds of times when I used to go camping with my first husband.
(However, I don’t think I have ever done it at the age of 75 years. This is a fact I don’t realize until I’m half-squatted down, in a dirty ditch by the side of the road.)
Me: Oh, my God! Honey!
Me: I can’t get up!
Him: You what?
Me: I can’t get up!
Him: You can’t get up?
Me: No, I’m stuck.
Him: Oh, no! What can I do?
Me: Can you come over here and help me?
Him: Sure. Just tell me what to do.
Me: Lift me up!
Him: Lift you up? Like that?
Me: No! Not like that. Try another way.
Him: What other way?
Me: Pull me up by my underarms.
Me: Not like that either!
Him: Like what then?
Me: I don’t know, but not like that.
Him: Are you stuck there?
Me: I know what. Get me a suitcase out of the trunk and put it right there.
(He gets suitcase)
Him: Like that?
Me: No. That’s not high enough.
Him: Like that? (Turning it over)
Me: Yeah. I get up like this all the time in yoga.
Him: You have a suitcase in yoga?
Me: No, I don’t have a suitcase in yoga!
Me: I did it!
Him: Yeah. Namaste.
Me: It’s not funny!
Him: I’m not being funny.
Me: Besides, I’m not done.
Him: What! You’re not done?
Me: No. I didn’t finish. I got pee-dirt splashed on me, and I stopped.
Him: (silence—not brooding silence, but definitely silence)
Me: I know! Where’s that Starbucks cup you had?
Him: The Starbucks cup?
Me: Yeah. I’m gonna pee in it. No squatting. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
Him: Me either. (handing me the cup)
Him: Is it going to be decaf or regular?
I emptied out the Starbucks coffee cup, wiped it out with tissue, and threw it on the backseat floor of the car. “Honey, just a reminder. Don’t use that cup!” He laughed and said he wouldn’t—then we headed for our next stop, a clothing-optional hot springs about two hours away.
Everything about it was exactly what we had hoped for—quietude, healing waters, soft California hills–except for one thing.
The cabins didn’t have indoor plumbing. It was pouring rain, and we would have to use the outhouse.
I gave my husband a look.
“What?” he said.
“Honey, could you go out to the car? You just never know how many different times an old Starbucks coffee cup will come in handy.”
Author: Carmelene Siani
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina