My Pee Pants

Dictionary.com defines shame as
1. the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc., done by oneself or another: She was overcome with shame.

2. susceptibility to this feeling: to be without shame.

3. disgrace; ignominy: His actions brought shame upon his parents.

4. a fact or circumstance bringing disgrace or regret: The bankruptcy of the business was a shame. It was a shame you couldn't come with us.

My friends tell me I have no shame. 

You'll see how this came about as a topic of conversation recently when I share a page from my book of life with you shortly. 

I thought long and hard about this.  What makes me feel shameful?

Not a lot is the conclusion I came to. 

How is this so? 

I own my actions. 

I stand behind, in front of and with the words exiting my mouth I put into the universe. 

I try not to have regrets or disgrace myself or others. 

I am comfortable with my actions and with who I am. 

'Tis true I do behave in ridiculous and in an improper manner from time to time but these actions don't bring me shame. 
 
So, with this being said, when I made the pee pee pants -- totally sober, not ill, and in the parking lot of Costco Friday, Dec. 9th -- I knew I'd be sharing the story with my friends. 
 
Yes, that is right.  I, a woman closer to the age of 40 than not, made pee pee pants. 
 
I had the day off from work.  4 cups of coffee and 48oz of water later while being out and about lead to my making of the pee pee pants. 
 
After I took care of some bisnatch at home, I headed out to meet friends for lunch and to run some errands. 

Keep this look in mind as the story progresses. 

 
Upon arriving at their office, I used the restroom.  At this point I was about 3.5 cups of coffee in. 
 
We headed to lunch.  This is where I didn't consume that much to drink.  I was busy nomming on my naked chicken salad minus dressing, add the queso, pile on the pico goodness from Qdoba. 
 
After a quick game of old school paper football with hand goals, we said our goodbyes and I headed to my crack house, Impress. 
 
No bathroom break needed here.  I knew I could wait until I made it to Ulta.  Off I went in the car to Ulta, down the road and around the corner.   
 
No problems here y'all.  Just me sucking down the rest of the coffee and making the water a thing of the past.
 
Bathroom break at Ulta.  Supplies re-stocked and off to Costco I go.
 
I zoom through the aisles getting what I need.  As I stand in line to check out I realize I need to tinkle.  I think to myself I can hold it until I get home.  There is no one to watch my cart if I go to the bathroom here.  Yeah, I can hold it.
 
I have a bladder of steel. 
 
Be the bladder of steel. 
 
There I am.  Finished checking out.  Wishing the lady looking over my receipt would quit fawning over my new faux fur blanket, the screaming hot deal on a hot and cold laminator, and just let me go. 
 
Can't she see by the look on my face I need to pee?
 
Oh yeah, that's right.  I have a bladder of steel and can hold. it.  Be the bladder of steel.
 
Finally, I make it to my car.  I say finally because I went down the wrong aisle, couldn't squeeze the cart through the cars (tried twice between two sets of vehicles), and ended up having to add more I can hold it, I can hold it thoughts to myself as I went back up the aisle only to come down another parking lot aisle, and arrive at my car. 
 
I unlock the trunk.  I position the cart to block me in like any sane, single girl does.  
 
Slowly I begin to unload the grocery cart of goodies.  
 
Keep in mind I am now crossing my legs, squeezing my bladder, saying hold it hold it hold it hold it and attempting to be the bladder of steel. 
 
Then it happens.  A tiny trickle.  I think to myself, "I got this."  Bladder of steel. Unload. Get home. 
 
Keep unloading.  More hold it hold it hold HOLD IT. . . and darn, there it goes.  
 
The gates opened.  I had no choice than to let it go.  The bladder of steel lives here no more. 
 
I sat on my bumper and politely made the pee pants with the above smile on my face as seen in the picture taken before I headed out.  
 
Wait, I thought to myself.  You're wearing sweater Uggs.  You must protect the Uggs.  
 
Yes folks, that was a real thought,  Priorities.  You'd be proud to know I have skills worthy of doing just that.  All you have to do is squat a little bit, press thighs and knees together, extend your feet shoulder width apart and you too can save your sweater Uggs from the pee pee.
 
So, as I am sitting on my bumper in said stance, I notice my pee is Moutain Dew yellow.  Oh yeah, that's right.  I took the B100 later in the day.  If anyone looks my way I can always act like I spilled a Mountain Dew.  Yeah, yeah, that's it.  I spilled Mountain Dew. 
 
Once I finished doing my business, which obviously I couldn't hold, I put the cart away, grabbed the blanket from the back seat, and drove myself home.  In my pee pants. 
 
Upon arrival home, shower, change of clothes, and no feelings of shame. 
 

The bladder of steel doesn't live here. 

 
Upon sharing the story with my W2 crew after our Saturday AM exercise, I was gifted with a pee saver for the next time I think I can hold it. 
 

You pee in the sack and it turns it to a gel like substance.  I hear you can get them at auto supply stores.  I might need to get more than just this one seeing as we all know there will be a next time I think I can hold it. 

Hey, do the stripes on my gloves and hat make me look big?

Peace, Love, Laughter.  xOxO, Mo