I could never miss the county fair. I love the rides, the animals, the games, the food. The only bad part is having to watch how much I drink, because I can never, under any circumstances, stand using a porta-potty.
Most people can hold their breath long enough to take a quick pee. Not me. I get sick and eventually I get nasty things coming out both ends. Porta-potties are never an option.
Every year before last year I managed by dehydrating myself and making a mad dash for the bathroom as soon as I got home. Sure, there were a couple close calls, but I'd take that over using the porta-potty.
But last year? I made the mistake of winning some free spicy ribs in ring toss game. I couldn't turn down eating them. Those juicy tenders are amazing. But with spicy food you have to drink a lot of liquid. I was desperate within a couple hours.
I wasn't ready to leave yet. My friend was performing in a musical revue that I was actually pretty excited for. I figured I could hold it. Halfway into the opening number, I felt a leak in my pants. I had to wiggle to keep any more from coming out. I tried to keep it subtle, but by the next number I was full-on dancing in my seat.
I started getting weird looks. I heard one kid say to their dad, "That lady has to go potty real bad."
It was so embarrassing. I decided to get out of my seat so I wouldn't attract so much attention. I hung around the back of the amphitheater, though, instead of leaving. My friend had a solo in "Anything You Can Do," and I wouldn't hear the end of it if I missed it. In the back I could potty dance to my heart's content and all anyone else would notice was the dancing onstage.
I leaked again, longer this time, and was barely able to stop it. I could hardly pay attention to the duet, but I wiggled to the beat. When everyone else applauded I yelled, "All right Kenney!" as loud as I could, hoping he would hear me. I would text and say how good a job he did later. I was moments away from pissing myself and I wasn't going to do it in the amphitheater.
I was desperate enough to consider giving the porta-potty a try. But after one look at the long line I knew I would never make it. So I booked it to the parking lot.
I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I'd find a bush to squat behind? Or I'd run to a restaurant across the street? It didn't matter. The floodgates opened and I was peeing full force. The warm pee quickly spread across the thighs and back pockets of my tight jeans. It trickled down my legs and into my shoes. The dust at my feet turned into a muddy puddle, which spread several inches in every direction.
I couldn't believe I'd had that much pee in me, or even that I'd wet myself to begin with. I hadn't peed my pants since I was five years old. But what I believed couldn't change how my pants were sticking to me, or the squelching my shoes made when I walked. There was nothing I could do but start the humiliating walk home.
