Well, I found another gem while cleaning out my blog. I wrote this a couple of years ago, when my pregnant sister-in-law was coming to visit. I think I was too embarrassed to post it, which you'll soon understand. But really, this is one experience I'll laugh about for the rest of my life.
My wonderful sister-in-law, who also happens to be pregnant, is visiting us next week. I proposed a trip to South Padre Island, at which point Chris said it might be hard for a pregnant woman to make a day trip to the beach in the summer heat. And then I remembered my pregnant trip to the island...
It was a hot day, as are most days at the island. Being pregnant, I was especially hot and especially thirsty. I drank a lot of water. A LOT of water. Before long, I needed to go the restroom. I patiently waited on the beach for Chris to come in from the water so I could walk to the bathrooms. Doug was with us, and I didn't want to leave him unattended because I knew he would throw the dog equivalent of a temper tantrum and attempt to chew through his leash. After waiting as long as humanly possible for Chris, who was still swimming, I grabbed the backpack with our valuables, Doug's leash, and began the long, sandy walk to the bathrooms.
The sand was dry and deep and my bladder was about to explode, which gave me a lot of time to regret wearing a one piece bathing suit to the beach. It had been so long since I had worn a one piece bathing suit that I had no idea how to go to the restroom in it.
After what seemed like forever, I made it to the restrooms only to discover a sign outside that read, "No pets allowed." Without hesitating, I walked into the restroom with Doug.
The restroom was gross: sandy, wet, humid, and steel everywhere. I walked straight to a stall and attempted to pull Doug in. I was about to pee on myself, I was using one hand to pull Doug's leash, and one hand to frantically shut the stall door. And this is when Doug panicked. For some unknown ridiculous dog reason, Doug was not going in the bathroom stall. He stopped moving, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and began pulling in the opposite direction. I tugged as hard as I could to force Doug into the stall with me, but he would not budge. The more I pulled, the more Doug resisted. Eventually, my need to urinate won. I dropped the leash and desperately tried to pull down my bathing suit to use the restroom while people in the bathroom yelled, "Your dog just ran away!" There was nothing I could do about it, however, because I was straddling the toilet with just the top half of my bathing suit down and pee running down my legs. It's never fun to pee on yourself, but it's especially disappointing when you are standing right next to a toilet.
I left the bathroom as soon as I could, only to discover Doug was running down the beach with his tail between his legs and his leash dragging behind him. I tried calling for him but he was too far away, so I ran after him with a giant pee spot on my pants. It took me several minutes to catch Doug, at which point we walked to the beach showers to wash away the evidence of a bathroom trip gone horribly wrong.
When Doug and I finally returned to our spot on the beach, Chris was relaxing in the shade. Now he was done swimming. He calmly asked, "Hey, where did you go?" Where did I go? WHERE did I go? I'll tell you where I went. I went to the bathroom in my pants as I stood over a toilet while Doug ran down the beach in a state of total panic. That's where I went.
Yes, Chris is probably right. A trip to the beach in this heat may be too much for my pregnant sister-in-law. I think we'll just air-up the kiddie pool in the backyard and open up the sandbox.
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