I dropped my brother and his friend off at JFK, and started for home despite a growing need to find a restroom; the airport was congested and I couldn't be bothered trying to park, etc. I got stuck in traffic for an overly long time, and by the time I got onto the Whitestone Bridge, the situation was becoming critical and my toes were curled as tight as they could get. What strange twist of anatomy connects the toes with the bladder, making it necessary to tighten the digits in order to keep the floods at bay? I pondered this afterwards, though, being somewhat preoccupied at the time. It was so bad, I didn't even want to plain ol' swallow, because the thought of liquid in any form brought tears to my eyes. I got through the toll booth, pausing long enough to ask for the nearest bathroom through gritted teeth. Fortunately for me and my car upholstery, there was one just up the road. I jumped out of my car and raced for the bathroom, my bladder so full I swear I could feel the bounce and swish. I truly only just made it in time.
Next time I go to JFK, I'm wearing a diaper. Fact.
I went to work for a couple of hours, then went home to get some sleep; I never really slept last night and I was shaking by the time I climbed in bed this afternoon. When I woke up, Wheezy joined me. She curled up on the mattress and began to bathe herself. I love watching cats bathe themselves, which sounds a little voyeuristic if you think about it. Anyway, I thought "Look how soft, fluffy, sweet and blissed out she looks. Watching her, you can almost forget that this bath precedes the hacking of a hair ball on the floor later."
Then, tonight, Randy's younger sister called me to invite me to a sleep-over. It seems she's throwing one of those parties during which erotic products are sold; she's been to a couple and thought they were fun. Now, she lives with her fiance and they're getting married next spring, so it's not like I didn't know that she's sexually active. And as a married woman myself, it's safe to assume the same of me. But that doesn't mean that I want to know the sorts of things she'd be interested in buying, or that I want her to know what I would be interested in. I agreed to go (I didn't go over for Easter dinner, so felt obligated- see what a guilty conscience gets you?) and am now destined to spend a perhaps uncomfortably enlightening evening with my SIL.
All in all, a strange day.
Next time I go to JFK, I'm wearing a diaper. Fact.
I went to work for a couple of hours, then went home to get some sleep; I never really slept last night and I was shaking by the time I climbed in bed this afternoon. When I woke up, Wheezy joined me. She curled up on the mattress and began to bathe herself. I love watching cats bathe themselves, which sounds a little voyeuristic if you think about it. Anyway, I thought "Look how soft, fluffy, sweet and blissed out she looks. Watching her, you can almost forget that this bath precedes the hacking of a hair ball on the floor later."
Then, tonight, Randy's younger sister called me to invite me to a sleep-over. It seems she's throwing one of those parties during which erotic products are sold; she's been to a couple and thought they were fun. Now, she lives with her fiance and they're getting married next spring, so it's not like I didn't know that she's sexually active. And as a married woman myself, it's safe to assume the same of me. But that doesn't mean that I want to know the sorts of things she'd be interested in buying, or that I want her to know what I would be interested in. I agreed to go (I didn't go over for Easter dinner, so felt obligated- see what a guilty conscience gets you?) and am now destined to spend a perhaps uncomfortably enlightening evening with my SIL.
All in all, a strange day.
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