There’s something I feel the need to get off my chest.
I’m pee-shy.
There, now that you all know, I feel as though a great weight has been lifted from me. Okay, not really, but I thought that would be the thing to say there, so here we are.

Since I am so brave (and inspirational) as to come forward to be the poster child for this devastating disorder, I feel it’s only appropriate for me to describe for you all, in great and graphic detail, the horrifying effects Pee-shyness can have on those afflicted, and yes, those that love these brave souls.
Please, as much as it may hurt, try to make it to the end of this post. Please, be brave like me. It’s time to bring this plague from the darkness, wherein it woefully resides, into the light. It’s time to start research… or a kickstarter campaign. Maybe work on a vaccine, though I dare not dream of a cure…

Here is my story.

Please try to imagine the following in the voice of either Sally Struthers or Sarah Mclaughlin:

I cannot pee in a port-a-potty. Ever. Not even if the choices are port-a-potty or death by bladder explosion. There are multiple reasons for this, some based in reality, and some not so much, but number one (ha-ha) is that a port-a-potty is, essentially, a hole. Right there it’s a done deal. Signed. sealed, delivered, the port-a-potty is a no-go-zone. Number two, (ha-ha) your chance of finding toilet paper is 50/50 at best, and those odds are Not. Very. Good. Three, the thing is portable. IT’S PORTABLE. Portable things do not have a very good reputation for rugged, sturdy construction.

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What you see…

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What I see.

What if it jiggled? Or (dear God no) fell over? No. No way. And the door never really closes. Even at is closiest, (I made up that word, do you like it?) it’s never more than, say, 80% closed. I’ve even seen some that close with a bungee cord. Really? A bungee cord? The thing’s a time bomb. Plus, there’s always a line, and a line is a can of worms all its’ own, about which you will read later.

I cannot pee outside. Someone with my condition (let’s just say it’s me, for shits and giggles) who stops along the side of the road somewhere or another to pee, and there are no bathrooms available, (Obviously all bathrooms have been outlawed, beamed into space, or destroyed in the zombie apocalypse, since that’s what it would take to drive me into the woods to pee) is in terrible, terrible, trouble. I would have to walk at least a mile (I’m guesstimating, but I feel a mile is right around the mark.) from whomever might be my company, at which point, I would most positively get lost.
Once I am thoroughly lost in the woods, there would still be the issue of open-ness. Bugs, birds, squirrels, Big Foot, and whatever else that might be LOOKING at me, before, during or even after my whaz.

“I tried to find a picture to go here, but it turns out that when you google “woman peeing in the woods” some very unusual sites pop up”

Since I am now forever lost in the woods, (because they’d look for me, but they’d never find me. If someone could’ve found me, I had obviously not gone deep enough into the woods in the first place.) I would have to LIVE with these creatures forever. Not to mention the issue of leaves. You don’t want to wipe with the wrong leaves, I think that’s pretty self explanatory, as nobody sells ointment in the woods. Of all my pee related phobias, I feel this is the most rational.

I cannot pee in a private restroom if there’s a chance that someone might hear me. The acoustics in a porcelain restroom are very, very, good. I feel like I’m in a commercial, starring me, having a tinkle. Occasionally, I may be able to overcome this obstacle with a some running water and fan, but then an entirely new issue pops up: someone walking by might think I’m trying to hide a telltale plop with white noise, and that is TOTALLY worse. Plus, white noise makes it so that I can’t hear approaching footsteps. You’d think that’d make it better, right? No, we’ve barely broken the skin of my neurosis.

I cannot pee anywhere that there is a line for the bathroom, because someone would be waiting for me to finish. I just can’t take that kind of pressure.

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How do they do it?

What are they thinking while they’re waiting for me to think about waterfalls and swimming pools and turning on the faucet? What amount of time is the right amount of time to pee? how long is too long? And when do the other restroom patrons begin to think that I may have misrepresented my bathroom intentions?
In this case, I will have to offer the restroom to the lady behind me first. Always quite magnanimously, like it’s a gift. Offered simply from the goodness in my heart. If someone else stops by? Well, why don’t you just go on ahead of me too. It’s fine. (I have no choice) I’m in no hurry (please leave). My general rule is three people, and then I move on to what (I hope) will be greener (or emptier) pastures.

I cannot pee in a public restroom if there’s anyone else in there. I have to wait for them to leave. It’s a pain in the ass, but makes for some interesting stories, and interesting smells. Did you know that there’s a 70% greater chance that the lady in the other stall will be a pooper if you look under the wall and see Dr. Scholls? It’s true. Black or brown, usually moccasin style. Also, a pack of high school girls isn’t as bad as you’d think. They move quickly, and usually have interesting things to say, but if a mother and child come in– give up. That’s a no win for everyone involved.

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Know thy enemy

I cannot pee in a public restroom if there’s the possibility that someone might come in while I’m taking care of business. I use a simple equation for deciding the best opportunity for some alone time in the commode:

Let’s use the movie theater as an example. There is no liquor served at this venue, so that factor is 0. If there is a new movie out, we’ll call that variable 10, and factor in what time that particular movie starts and ends (x/y) and how many weeks the movie you have come to see has been out (z). Then, divide by the movie’s target audience, with your variable greater or less depending on whether you have your children with you (plus or minus 5, in this case.) and don’t forget to consider whether a Twilight or Hunger Games movie happens to be out at the same time (a+25=z).
So we end up with 0+10(x/y)(z) / (+or-5)(a+25=z) Then, if you’ve done your math properly, you should have your best opportunity to be alone in the bathroom, but bear in mind that your chance to be alone in the bathroom increases at precisely the same rate as your chance to run into Dr. scholls moccasin lady.

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I’m not positive about the woman on the right.

Then, there are those who bully and abuse those that suffer the agonies of pee-shyness. I regret to say I have fallen victim to this abuse. Luckily, my bravery and inspirationalness (I made up that word too, do you like it?) has allowed me to rise above these petty tauntings, and hold my head high, even when my bladder is full.

My sisters, my own family, are the worst. As the youngest of six, they all know about my ailment, and do things like:

–Purposely accompany me to the restroom.

–Knock on the door of the bathroom while I’m trying to pee.

–Sneak up to whatever bathroom door I’m behind and say (juuust loudly enough for me to hear) “I can heeeear you…”

Adults can be so mean… I can be stopped up for days after that. That’s why it’s so important to encourage understanding and begin research into what is such a tragic malady.
My 5 year old is starting to figure out my problem. He will tiptoe to the bathroom door, and stand right outside while I’m peeing, just so he can be there, complete with a creepy smile, the instant I open the door. I try to keep calm, but when your best laid plans are blown to hell by one very quiet 5 year old, it can really throw you off your game, and once it’s over, it’s over. Once someone ruins my bathroom experience, either accidentally or on purpose, there will be no pee for me for hours, at least.

My husband should join a support group or something. He’d have his 10 year chip by now.

Please understand that we, the pee-shy, are not making a lifestyle choice. Peeshyness is completely involuntary. I will go from peepee dancing my way into a restroom to completely unable to go in an instant. I can only hope that research and understanding, as well sympathetic readers like you, will make a difference for future generations of the Pee-shy. (Tear)
This is the story of me, Naptimethoughts. I’m sure there are more of us out there. If you suffer from pee-shyness, or know someone that does, please, join with me in celebrating my bravery and inspiration.

Oh, and please share your own stories of bravery and inspiration.

 

Someday, we will all be free to pee.

Thank you.

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