Damn That Last Water!

I've been low on post ideas, hence my infrequent visits to your reader, however the mighty Blog Goddess saw fit to bless me with an event last night that just demanded to be blogged.

We're wrapping up the Little League regular season here in VA. Now Mamma Loves baseball, but it does mean that I visit the ball fields 4-5 times a week with our two players.

The thing about the ball fields you see is that when nature calls a woman has few options.

I did give that bottle of water a second thought before I took it out of the refrigerator at work to drink on the way to the game. I did weigh the possibility of having to use the dreaded Don's John. But I was thirsty.

Some time in the bottom of the second inning I couldn't wait. It was time to brave the Bacteria Bin.

The lights were on at the field and when I got inside and closed the door I realized it was really dark inside that potty. I was wearing my work clothes and I was a bit concerned about my pants touching the floor, so I hitched them before pulling them down from my waist.

You know I totally squatted cause there ain't no way any part of me is touching any of this latrine. Everything was going well. Pants hiked up. Perfect squatting position achieved and bladder emptying.

Then I tried to maneuver for some toilet paper--while I maintained my position.

What happened next was all such a blur. I guess I lost my balance. Next thing I know pee is ricocheting off the toilet and spraying the backs of my legs and running down my ankles. I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't readjust. I couldn't keep the pants up, the squat maintained and find the target. I was frantic. And I was covered in pee!

And it was only the second inning. And it was humid.

I managed to blot out most of the dripping parts (mostly the hem of my pants) and luckily the pants were black and so the wetness was not noticeable. I hurried to my car just to collect my thoughts. I could go home and change, but it was a tournament game and how was I supposed to explain my running off to change. Besides, us baseball parents? We're weird and superstitious. The team always wins when I'm in my work clothes. I couldn't change.

The pants weren't as bad as I first thought, so I made my way back to the game. I am happy to report that Mr. 10's team won and will continue on in the tournament. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only one who noticed that I smelled like a Port-O-Potty (remember the humidity?). It's that or the other parents on the team just have really nice manners.