Splashes and Puddles

I wake up in the cold grey dawn other morning. How it could be so cold in August baffles me. I didn’t want to get out of my cozy bed but I had to pee. Badly. I peek out the camper window and see a small line of shivering half clad women waiting in line to use the outhouse.

You would think they would just pee in the woods. Heck, cop a squat and pee. What’s the big deal? Go pee and get over it.

Here’s the thing. There is no lady like way to squat and pee. There I am. My butt is hanging in the wind, my pants down around my ankles and I am shivering, usually half asleep (because I will only do this in the middle of the night when I am too chicken to make my way to the outhouse that is on other end of the camp ground, in bear country, in the middle of nowhere) and I am peeing. Nice image.

Even if I had a nice ass and didn’t mind it hanging about for every bear to check out it’s the splash and puddle that’s truly awful. Unless the ground has magically turned into an absorbent sponge towel I get the splash and puddle. My thong clad feet get splashed, and I am floating in a lovely pee puddle between my feet. I get up and step away from said puddle while pulling up my pants in one stumbling drunken move and make my way back to the camper with wet feet and a cold ass.

I promise the porcelain throne gods that I will kiss my toilet in appreciation when I get home. Some get off planes and kiss the ground. Me, when I get home from the deep woods, I kiss the toilet that flushes and keeps my feet dry.

*all pictures were taken while hanging out in the middle of nowhere, bear country, summer 2009