I just left a comment on a friend's blog -- seriously, like five minutes ago -- and the comment involved one of Those Stories. Those Stories are the stories that are too embarrassing to tell on my own blog. Obviously, I don't have many of Those Stories, because I don't have much shame. It's been well-established that I am a thumping idiot who regularly assaults the very idea of human dignity, so why hold back further evidence to the blog's thesis? That's just not how I do things around here. I am way scientific.
Occasionally I meet people and realize that wow, it IS kind of awkward when I'm all, "So what's your dog's name?" and they're all, "I remember the time your dog jumped into your toilet! That was hilarious!" But I usually get over that, and chances are even if you DON'T read my blog you've heard the toilet dog story, because I like to tell that one at fancy dinner parties.
But! Anyway! My point is, at one time in my life I had standards and would not stoop to completely humiliating myself just for the sake of a blog entry, and 1) that time is past, having ended sometime around the whole "pooping on the delivery table", and 2) I had a really, really boring weekend.
So. Flashback! I'm about 30-odd weeks pregnant with Noah. I am sitting innocently in my office, tapping away on my computer for totally-for-sure work-related reasons, when a coworker stops by to chat. She says something funny. Not like, HAW HAW HAW stop-I-can't-breathe funny, but funny.
And I laugh.
And I pee my pants.
And I don't mean a little achoo! related leakage. I mean the absolute worst-case scenario of breathtaking incontinence. It's soaking my clothes and my chair and I can feel it running down my legs and pantyhose and oh my God, it's making a SOUND as it's dripping onto the plastic mat under my desk.
So I did the only thing I could think to do, given the circumstances. I kept talking to my friend as if nothing had happened at all. Only LOUDER, just to drown out the suspicious drippy noises.
About 10 minutes later she left and I dove at the door and slammed it shut, and then spun around to confront the horror. What to do what to do what to do?
SO YOU'VE GONE AND PEED YOURSELF AT WORK:
1) Crank up the air-conditioning unit, sit on it.
2) Attempt to formulate plan.
3) Survey contents of office in terms of absorbency. Tissues? Useless. Secret stash of horded restaurant napkins? Yes! 300 back issues of various financial newsletters? MacGuyver says HELL YES.
4) Paper the damn floor like you're preparing for the damn PuppyBowl.
5) When ass is sufficiently chilled and dry-ish from sitting on the air conditioner, strip off pantyhose, shove in purse, and poke head out of office and make a mad dash for the office kitchen.
5a) If kitchen is occupied, sit down in nearest chair and pretend to contemplate nearest Chinese takeout menu with GREAT INTEREST.
5b) If kitchen is vacant, make a beeline for the storage cabinet and grab several rolls of paper towels.
6) Dash back to office. Weep, for yes, this is what your life has come to.
7) Re-paper the floor and create an ample paper-towel cushion for chair.
8) Oh, you have to pee again? OF COURSE YOU DO. Maybe someone will give you an M&M if you make it to the potty like a big girl this time!
9) The next day, smuggle in sponge, scrub brush, antibacterial spray, Woolite and bottle of Febreze to work in your purse.
10) Stash extra paper towels in bottom desk drawer for remainder of pregnancy.
Whew. That felt good to finally confess. I feel like I really helped some people today. Good work. And I'm one step closer to that lucrative banner campaign from Depends.
However, to any of my former coworkers: Uh, no! That's totally not my chair you're using now. I...uh, heard they got rid of it. Yes. They sent it upstate to live on a farm. With the other chairs and the puppies.