in the ongoing humiliating saga of advancing old age, i’ve developed a startling new habit. as i step off the treadmill after my grueling 35 minute trek to nowhere, i pee. in my pants. every time. it’s as though my body is so relieved the agony has ended, it weeps for joy. oh, how the body betrays.
actually, i prefer this development to the unfortunate siege of pooping in my pants that cast a long, dark shadow over my life a few years ago. all my nerves are in my stomach, and the results of my anxiety were turning up in my undies. how unladylike. one time, i was out walking the dog, and i had to answer nature’s call in the woods, too. at least theo fannybrice wasn’t judgmental. he probably approved! i cannot tell you how many times i’ve had to beg a store clerk for immediate access to employee only facilities. my dry cleaner has been particularly kind. i’d like to take this opportunity to personally thank hanes for the holding power of their elastic leg bands.
i finally submitted to a round of medical tests to determine the cause of this mayhem. everything came back normal. this the lord & master refused to accept: “there’s nothing normal about you, wiggles.” and then, lo and behind, the surprise packages stopped. i assure you it wasn’t all in my mind – there was too much physical evidence for that to be true – but, hey, i guess that communicating about one’s problems really does bring relief.
looks like i’ll be making another visit to my doctor. she could use a good laugh. until then, pardon me while i do another woolite wash.