Episode 5: Tim reads a rejected Modern Love piece (rejected by the stupid and dumb and wrong New York Times) about navigating his nightly bathroom visits in his new marriage.
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“Just sit down to pee,” my wife said. “Then you won’t have to turn on the light and wake me up. Problem solved.”
Problem not solved.
My new wife could not understand the heaviness of her suggestion so lightly tossed in my direction. Sit down to pee? Did she not see the faint suggestion of a mustache occupying my upper lip? This unflattering caterpillar was not there to improve my looks, for it did the opposite. Rather, it indicated to all who saw me (and more importantly, indicated to myself whenever I glanced in a mirror) that I was a man. And do men sit down to pee? They most certainly do not.
Aimee and I did not move in together until after marriage. Having been confined to twin beds before legally binding ourselves, our marital mattress offered the first insight into respective nightly habits. Aimee mouth breathes and sometimes steals the covers. I have the bladder of an 87-year-old unmedicated diabetic.
Each night, upon reclining between the sheets, I lie with my attention hovering just above my pubic bone. At the slightest pressure, I lurch out of bed and hobble to the toilet, emptying what little has had the chance to accumulate in the ten minutes since my previous visit. Upon returning to bed, I resume my vigil, praying to the god of sleep and infrequent urination that he or she will bless me with slumber devoid of further interruption.
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If you enjoy westerns like True Grit or The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, check out Tim’s western novel, Dust, available on Amazon in eBook form in addition to being read on the podcast.
For other resources, visit timdrugan.com.