The Night the Toilet Disappeared
When I was younger, I remember going into the kitchen one night to find my little brother sleepwalking and peeing in the bin rather than the bathroom toilet. At the time, my mother thought it was hysterical and it was a family story that never lost its humor. However, my brother was only 6 or 7 years old at the time. Now that I am a grown up, and I have two children of my own, I am glad I have two girls who know where the bathroom is, and how to pee in a toilet.
I thought the days of finding pee in random places was over. It seems not!
Nowadays, we don’t have to worry about going into the garden to the ‘outdoor privy’ to do our business; most houses have en-suite bathrooms, or at least a toilet on each floor of the house. In Japan they have toilets that do everything except wipe your tooshie for you. Self-flushing, self-cleaning, seat warming funky toilets. Now don’t get me wrong, living with a geek means we have many gadgets in my house, but a self-flushing loo is not one of them (although I have wondered what contraptions are on our toilet to keep my husband perched on it for hours each day). No, in this house we have a regular toilet. You know, the ones that you pee INTO.
However, it seems that when my lovely geek of a husband has had a few too many rum and cokes, he seems to forget about the contraption that was invented almost 420 years ago and reverts back to being a caveman!
Let me recount a story that I think may make a few of you ladies out there grateful that your husband has remembered how to use a toilet, even if he forgets to replace the seat lid.
During a particularly hot summer, my husband was invited to a work BBQ. The party was held in a very upmarket establishment, with an open bar… This is where the problem started.
My husband does not drink often. But when he does, he enjoys himself, because when he drinks he gets funnier and the people around him find him so hilarious they ply him with even more alcohol. No word of a lie, he is the funniest person to be around when he has had a few cocktails. The only problem is, bless him, he was not graced with the biggest bladder in the world. In fact, between him and my youngest daughter, I can pretty much guarantee that at least once an hour I will be pulling the car over so one of them can find a bathroom.
So, in a nut shell: Alcohol + Small Bladder = Major Problem.
When my husband returned home from his rather raucous night out, full of the joys and giggles of the night, I was already fast asleep in my very comfortable cozy bed. This of course meant nothing to my husband who felt that waking me up with his tales of who snogged what boss, and which idiot was thrown into the pool fully dressed, was entirely hysterical. He was of course (in his head at least) hilarious. I, however, was sober, and asleep, and not finding this funny at all. I managed to coax him into bed, and within moments he had passed out.
I have to count myself lucky; he is not an aggressive or angry drunk. I add this as a caveat, because I swear when you hear what happened next you will wonder why the hell I married this man.
About half an hour later, he was woken with the sudden unbearable urge to pee. He stood up, in the bedroom which we had now lived in for well over a year, and instead of turning towards the bathroom, he walked into the corner of the room and let it go… all over my floor… in the bedroom. One sure fire way of pissing off the wife.
I screamed at him “What are you doing?!”
Now, my husband was already drunk, but what didn’t help the situation was that he is also a really awful sleeper. He sleep talks, shouts and generally in the morning cannot remember a single thing he did or said during his ‘slumber’ state.
So I should not have expected anything other than the response I got:
“Shut up. Leave me alone.”
“You are peeing in the corner.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are NOT in the bathroom, you are in the bedroom.”
When he had decided he was done, he climbed back into bed quickly slipping back into a coma. I sat stunned and wondered what the hell to do… part of me wanted to wake his drunk ass up and get him to clean it… but I knew it was highly unrealistic that I could rouse him from a comatose state.
So I went to the kitchen to grab the mop and bucket, but when I returned to the bedroom, there he was again, up and out of bed, and this time he was peeing in the cupboard… into his brand new £200 pair of Samuel Windsor shoes… the ones he had just polished that morning ready for an important meeting the next day.
“Seriously, what the actual fuck are you doing?! Go to the bathroom.”
His half asleep face turned and looked at me, I could tell by his eyes that he was not awake, or anywhere on the planet for that matter.
“Fuck off. Leave me alone to pee.”
So… with that, I put the mop bucket and mop down and pushed him out of the way. At this point I realised that I was just not going to win this one.
“Come back to bed baby.” He cooed.
YEAH RIGHT! I shot back a look that could kill. I turned my back on the mop and bucket and bleach on the floor and looked towards the spare room, slamming the bedroom door behind me.
“What’s your problem?” I could hear him spitting from behind the door.
After a relaxing dream-filled sleep in the spare room, I got up in the morning refreshed and with a cheeky smile on my face. This was going to be FUN.
I made a cup of coffee and grabbed an Aspirin and some water and took them to the bedroom (because I am just that nice!). Waking my husband up was as dangerous as poking a hibernating bear with a stick, but it would be worth it.
As his bleary eyes focused, he smiled and said “Thanks, Baby. I feel rough.”
To which I smiled sweetly, and responded “Not as rough as you’re gonna feel.”
As I explained his actions the previous night, his face lost the last tiny amount of colour it had left and turned stony grey.
“No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that. Why didn’t you stop me.”
I laughed, pointed to the mop, bucket and bleach and told him to get to work.
“I don’t care how crap you feel, you can mop that up yourself – oh and you might want to check your new Windsor’s before you put them on… not sure your colleagues would appreciate the smell of piss during the meeting today.”
My husband has never since been as drunk as he was that night, and will never live down the experience.
It just goes to prove that big boys are just small boys that grew taller, because give them a drink and they revert to being children again, happy to take their pecker out anywhere and pee in a corner just for the sake of it!
So ladies… I can’t be alone here, tell me your tales of drunken exploits – have you caught your hubby watering the plants after a night out?
