Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Open Letter to My Stupid Bladder

Dear Stupid Bladder:

I once heard a comedian say, “The only time I don’t have to pee is when I’m peeing.” Yes! I thought.

I used to think you were merely small, dear bladder, a genetic oopsie like my mom’s tiny one. From college well into my 30s, I was teased for peeing all the time, especially after I started drinking alcohol around 20. I’d always say, “I have a small bladder” to explain why I’d hit the restroom 15 minutes after I already went. For years, I planned my days based on where the next restroom would present itself. You ruled my life. I often wished there was bladder transplant surgery, so I could just swap you out. I even took antibiotics on my wedding day, thinking you were infected then! (You weren’t.)

Forget window seats on airplanes or road trips with friends with camel bladders. Forget concerts with large crowds, long lines, and porta-potties. And holy cow, teaching high school was like Chinese water torture when it came to having availability to use the bathroom. Walking around Manhattan sightseeing? Miserable. I distinctly remember standing next to the 9-11 site thinking, “Oh my god, I’m going to pee my pants.”