When They Tell You to Do Kegels, Listen

The other night M and I were wrestling in the kitchen.

What? Don’t all married couples do this?

We playfully pushed and swatted each other as S stood giddily on the sidelines, directing M to push me here, and me to pinch him there. Finally, M suddenly grabbed me in a bear hug from behind and squeezed the living crap out of me. ALMOST LITERALLY.

That hug was (un)strategically placed, and that combined with my laughter was just not a good combination because the next thing I knew, I felt a warm gush “down there”. Horrified, I felt the slow trickle down my legs, and then, just like that, it made its exit out from under my skirt and onto the kitchen floor.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I PEED ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR.

M hopped back in terror, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you…. DID YOU JUST PEE?”

S covered her mouth and squealed with a mixture of disgusted delight and absolute humiliation that this was her mother: The Lady Who Pees on Kitchen Floors.

“YES I JUST PEED!” I said defiantly. “You try squeezing a kid out of your vagina and let’s see how well YOU can hold it in!”

We all kind of just stared down at it: the little puddle that shimmered mockingly back at us. It was my pee. And it was on the kitchen floor. Something was out of context here.

I grabbed the bleach and a handful of paper towels and wiped it up while M and S laughed in the background.

Look: If you can’t pee on the kitchen floor in front of your family, well then you just really haven’t gone deep enough.

~Patti