Trying to meet Callie after a night of drinking was a terrible idea.
So was not going to the bathroom before I left the bar.
I waited for an eternity for the train and treated the only other person in the station to a pee pee dance.
I got off the train, but still had several blocks to walk to Foggy Bottom.
It was dark, late and dangerous. But I couldn’t think about that, because I still had to pee.
It hurt so badly I had to stop on the sidewalk and couch down for a minute. Within seconds a small stream was going down my leg. Once the floodgates opened, it turned into a full-on tsunami.
I pissed myself.
It felt so good to break the seal, I wasn’t immediately mortified. In fact, once my brain could focus on something other than my Kegels, I realized the dangerous situation I was in.
Somewhere in that quagmire of thought, I decided this could serve as an effective rape preventer. No one wants to attack someone wet with their own pee.
With every step, my heels burped a fart and dribbled piss out the sides. Forget the “uncomfortable” feeling in sweaty sneakers. This may have hurt my feet more than holding my pee in.
Even after I stopped and dumped them out, the wet leather interior rubbed my feet raw.
I tried jogging to the quickest bathroom.
Eventually, I made it to the first lit building with a public bathroom, which ironically was the Winston House: the same apartment building I shared with Callie over the summer. I walked by the doorman as normally as I could and then raced to the lobby restroom.
I cleaned myself off and ran my black pumps under the faucet. Anyone with a modicum of sense would ask the doorman to hail a cab and go home. Instead, I dried my shoes with paper towels and walked the rest of the way to the bar.
I found Callie in the crowd at “Froggy Bottom” and paid for a drink. The bartender rang a bell behind the bar in celebration of the tip I gave him.
Even the sound of a real, not metaphoric, bell couldn’t ring some sense into me.
I stayed out and met Dad for brunch the next morning, only telling him that I met up with Callie. “You went out after!? I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah Dad, I don’t either.”