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Flushing Meadows

simpsons flushing meadows

I should have gone before I left. Why didn’t I just get it out of the way? Would’ve taken me two minutes. I would be so much more comfortable right now. Although, to be fair, it never really hits hard until I flop down into the front seat. Grab some wheel, put it in drive and BAM, it kicks like a mule. The pressure builds, the body reacts, the bladder seems to shrivel. It hurts to pinch it off, but helps somehow. Deep breaths also help.

Oh Jesus, I hope I don’t get pulled over. I don’t think I could hold it. Cops do not usually appreciate being pissed on. I can’t speed either, can’t take the chance, but it feels like my legs are filling up, making my foot heavy, but I have to keep it steady.

I look around the car for an empty bottle, just in case. I could possibly angle it out the window, but the splash back would be terrible. I’d rather just ruin my pants than spritz my car, inside and out. Oh sweet Jesus, hoo boy it’s getting painful.

Cold sweats dot my forehead even though it’s freezing outside. If I yell loudly maybe I can distract myself from the impending urge. I bite down on my back teeth to keep them from floating away. A line of swears I doubt I could produce under normal circumstances flow from my mouth like a faucet turned full blast. Oh god, don’t think of a faucet.

I can’t help but feel this is somehow my fault. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Of course it’s my fault. I’m a grown ass man, I should know when I have to pee. Next time I will handle my business like an adult. I certainly don’t feel like an adult with one hand on my dick and the other gripping the steering wheel with hateful retribution.

Finally, turning down my street , there is hope in sight. I can’t stop farting, but I’m close enough to settle my body. Just hang on another thirty seconds and I’ll be there.

I pull into my driveway about ten miles an hour faster than usual and jam the car into park. I don’t have the patience to fumble for my keys so I sprint for the back yard. Luckily it’s dark back there because as soon as I clear my zipper I let loose a stream that could put out a house fire. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, one or two streaking my cheek. This is the greatest feeling alive. A shiver rides up the back of my neck, my knees buckle and I breathe heavy. Sweet lord, I feel human again.

I zip up and make my way inside, humbled and exhausted, promising never to put myself through that again. I will forget this lesson one day, or have more faith than I should in my human adult skills, but for now I feel good. Like a less than omnipotent god, free from the constraints that held my mortal being. Like the grown man I have to remind myself that I am.

Doctor Visit

sphygmomanometer

I lost my voice one winter. It was cold out and my sinuses, as usual, were being a real dick. As soon as you get over one cold you say hello to someone and catch another one. Their cold jumps down your throat, harvests in your belly and tells your body to take a break, it’s got it from here. So I called off work, grunting over the phone that I couldn’t talk, and went to the doctor.

I sat in the waiting room for a while, then my personal room, also waiting, until the doctor came in. She was in her late 30’s or so, wearing the traditional doctor smock. I mimed my condition, pointing at my neck, making horrible sounding noises while she took my blood pressure and asked if I was nervous. This happens a lot. I wasn’t nervous. I’m rarely nervous, even when it’s appropriate, but I get the question often from doctors. I like to think it is my super power, bubbling just under the surface, waiting for the doctor to make a mistake and then pounce. Although, I don’t know what that super power is besides fooling sphygmomanometers. Probably wouldn’t put me on the first string of The Avengers.

The doctor continued with the rigmarole of tests, stopping when she checked my ears to compliment their cleanliness. I was certain that she wanted me. I left a short time later with a prescription for amoxicillin, checking and double checking the page for a hidden phone number I wouldn’t call. It wasn’t there. My voice came back by the next day thanks to the amoxicillin, but it took an extra day to shake the feeling that there was a connection between ear cleanliness and attraction. I’ve never heard a woman come right out and say it, but maybe it’s a gender secret. Maybe they are all out there talking about our ears and their waxy constituents. If they are I’m getting killer reviews.

Darts?

darts

“You guys want to play darts?” came from just over my shoulder, croaked out like Louis Armstrong singing while smoking four large cigars and forgetting to exhale.

We stopped talking, stopped drinking. It felt as if the entire bar had stopped, holding us in the eye of the tornado for a brief moment. We peeked over, turned around, leered and slunk to see the source of this most miraculous voice; a 105 pound blonde girl, no older than 22, leaning over the table behind us.

“Darts?” she croaked again.

There was no doubt it was her. We held our breaths, avoiding eye contact with each other for fear of explosive, inexplicable laughter. A pretty little blonde girl with a voice like liquid gravel. Like a chain smoking elderly woman singing an old country song no one asked to hear. Not being able to laugh was the hardest part; it always is. The longer you try to push the laugh deeper, the more likely something is going to work its way out. And then…

…someone slipped and out squeaked a ha. A tiny little ha, no more than a peep, but it was all it took to send us over. We laughed hard enough and for long enough that everyone in our vicinity certainly thought we were idiots, or drunk, or both. And we were both, really, but it didn’t matter. No doubt about it, top five all-time laugh. One of those ones where you feel like you might vomit the beer you just slugged down and don’t even care. The ones that make your abs and chest hurt so much that you’ll be sore the next day. Guttural, primal, unadulterated joy.

To this day I wonder about that girl with her Cher getting her throat stepped on-like voice every time I hear the word darts. Maybe she has gone on to be the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation with her own private jet and monkey stewardesses that can make a perfect martini, but she will never outrun that voice. Not from me at least. And not from the memory of that laugh.