My Son Really Pissed me off
Highway hell ends with unexpected shower
They say the universe is all about balance.
The ups, the downs. The light, the dark. The good, the bad.
Sometimes, when things are going too well, we know that somewhere, waiting around a corner perhaps, is the great equalizer, something that will ensure that no joy we experience goes without the proper measure of pain.
There I was, embracing nature in the natural, picturesque splendor that is Muskoka in northern Ontario. Three days and two nights of nothing but golf, tennis, swimming and eating. Okay, I ate and swam, but you get my drift.
I was enjoying the perfect weather in Lake Muskoka one minute, dining in a beautiful restaurant the next, before enjoying story time with my two young kids and my wife.
Unfortunately, all good things must end, and it was time to hit the 400 for the 150 minute drive down the highway back to my downtown Toronto home.
After making it all the way to Barrie I had to open my mouth. I had to awaken the ire of the Gods that make sure the good must be accompanied by the bad.
I bragged to my wife that I couldn’t believe how great the traffic was, and that we should be home to meet friends for dinner in record time. It was at that time that the Gods spoke, and the voice came directly from my son’s Bladder.
About five minutes after asking the kids if they needed to pee, they assured me that all was well in the “number one” department, and I was told to pass the Petro Canada station, and drive on.
Unfortunately, while they are still both young, they are also both well past the diaper stage, as well as the pull up stage.
It was as we approached King City, about 30 minutes north of Toronto the Good when my son, Eli, told me that he had to pee.
At that point we were past any forseeable exits or gas stations and my sense of helplessness and panicsoard with every passing “Daddy, I can’t keep it in…” coming from the seat directly mine.
Remembering the stories I had read about ex-Maple Leaf captain Rick Vaive who was arrested for a DUI, and admitted to using empty Gatorade bottles to use in the absence of a urinal. I spotted a partially full bottle of chocolate milk which I quickly emptied before tossing it to Eli to use.
My wife questioned my fathering skills, and doubted that this was the adisable route to take. But, with no other options, she acquiesced, and Eli quickly dropped trous.
I assumed things were going well with this spontaneous operation before suddenly, and to my utter amazement, and disgust, a stream of arching 7-year-old urine began reigning down on my head, my neck, and onto the steering wheel of my Honda van.
After the initial shock of my urine shower, we all began to laugh at the sheer ridiculous event that had just occurred. My wife gave me some Kleenex and I woiped off my neck, and bravely continued my sojourn home. Seconds later, and without waring, I was greeted with an even more powerful blast of pee that rivaled the fountains outside of the Bellagio Hotel in Vegas, fortunately without the slightest hint of Celine Dion.
Eli was enjoying this far too much. My wife roared with laughter while my daughter, fortunately slept through the entire ordeal.
Finally I found another gas station where I washed up, rinsed my hair, and changed my shirt.
As we made our way back onto the 400, I was still proud of my driving prowess, as we were still 30 minutes ahead of schedule.
So, again, as I laughed off the whole situation, I took pride and comfort in the fact that I was the man who had conquered the 400 and would deliver his family safely, and with time to spare.
Then the other urine-soaked shoe dropped. As I made it to the ramp to the 401 eastbound, I sat for a good 45 minutes, as other drivers extricated themselves from an accident zone that had caused a major back up.
As we finally arrive, 60 minutes late for our dinner appointment, I had to pee, something I hadn’t done since some 3 hours, and two bottles of Fiji water earlier.
Shouting a “hello” to our friends, I excused myself running to the restaurant’s bathroom. Of course, on the door was a sign that read, laughed, actually, “Out of Order!”
My son, reading the sign, and sensing my burgeoning anger and bursting kidney, ran back to the table, and brought me an empty water glass.
I declined his offer, and ran, outside to where fortunately there was a large bush filled field where I was most assuredly not the only human to urinate.
What a day. What a week. It started so beautifully and serene.
Next time the traffic’s good, I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut, and my Gatorade bottle empty.