The Fool-Proof Guide to Failing with Flair

Everything you need to know about getting it wrong.

Guppie Bladder


I had forgotten, until a couple days ago, just how much I dislike sharing a dwelling that only has one bathroom. Living alone, I have become accustomed to leaving the door open when I pee, cluttering up every surface with my girlie stuff and not worrying about having to wait on someone else.

Two days ago my younger step son (middle boy) came to stay with me for a little while. The limitations of my apartment already compromise general privacy for both of us, but that’s OK in the short term. Not only do I love my step son, I like him too, so I do not feel burdened by his company. I’m not sure the feeling is reciprocal but, right now, tough titties for him if it’s not.

Earlier today we went out together for a while. When we got back to the apartment he immediately went into the bathroom. Grrr. I have a bladder the size of Thumbelina’s head and I pee about 20 times a day. Because I’m a woman and I don’t have a prostate, that’s not the problem. I don’t have some weird bladder disease and I’m not incontinent (yet). I just pee a lot. I pee in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning, before I go anywhere, as soon as I get home, and any other number of times throughout the day. I enjoy having a bathroom that is exclusively mine. After years of raising multiple children in apartments with only one bathroom, my husband and I finally bought a house that had two whole bathrooms. Or rather one full bathroom and one half bath. The point is, they both had toilets and it was highly unusual for my bladder to have to play second fiddle to another family member’s bathroom business. After my marriage was over and the house was gone, but before I moved to my current location, my bathroom situations were mostly shared. I didn’t like it then and I still don’t like it now.

I feel a bit guilty griping about this here. My bad-parent attitude is in full evidence. I haven’t addressed the issue directly with my step son because the arrangement can’t be helped. He has, however, done me the great honor of reading this blog on a regular basis so he will be informed of my toilet turmoil right along with the rest of you, and not before. Bad, bad step mother. Sorry middle son. We all have our issues. Take your time in the bathroom but please let me pee first when we get home. My years of experience have made me fast and efficient. I’ll be out as soon as I’m done writing this . . .

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