Red, and White and Green All Over

By Isleswriter

The job of a guest is to be a Good Sport. Even at family gatherings, we all know that it’s “Not All About You,” and you just need to buck up and go with the program.

Sometimes you need to pee in your pants at the request of your host. With an admiring audience of course.

Come with me if you would on the journey known as “Fourth of July 2009.”

In-laws’ house on lovely and picturesque lake: kids waterskiing; everyone decorating the boat for the annual “Best Decoration” award. So much fun to be had by all.

Time to get in the boat and get in line for a turn at the judges dock! Hurry now! Put down that third or fourth liquid beverage!

Hurray! Family memories in the making! I scamper aboard in my white shorts and Old Navy red t-shirt. We take our place in the stately progression around the lake! “Hi neighbors!” “Great theme this year.”

Hang on. Most everyone needs a bathroom break. Well most everyone is pretty clever because they had the shrewd foresight to wear a bathing suit.

There goes Uncle Larry, peeing freely in the water-yay! Opps, it’s little Walter’s turn, “Go Walt!”

Umm. I need to pee. The dilemma is clear: do I make it “All About Me” and ask if we can go back to the house AND LOSE OUR COVETED PLACE IN LINE? No! I’m not that selfish.

My husband loudly announces that I need to pee too.

“Jump in!! Pee in your pants!” This merrily shouted by all on the boat.

Fork in the road: holding is not an option. Being a major whiner and whinging about going back isn’t either.

In I go!

Twelve expectant faces peer over the side: “Is she going yet?” “How much?” “Is there a problem?” “Why didn’t she wear a suit?” “She’s from THE CITY.”

No problem here! I LOVE peeing in my new shorts as I cling to the boat while people watch me go-I’m in heaven!

But now the fun part. Getting me back in the boat. It should be easy. I’m of normal weight and height. But no, God has plans for me.

Plans that involve several aborted attempts to heave me on deck by holding one hand and one foot. “Put her back in and try again.”

My husband, a large man, soothed my jangled nerves by grunting “GAWWWWW” as he finally pulled me aboard.

No one had mentioned the social hour at the judge’s beach. In full Good Sport mode, I confidently socialized while kicking away the feeling that “Everyone is looking at me funny.”

Once back at “our” dock, my sister-in-law said, “Hon, we didn’t have the heart to tell you at the beach, ‘cause you’ve been such a great sport, but you sat in green paint on their wall. Look at your butt. We all felt so bad.”


Published in: on July 17, 2009 at 4:21 pm  Comments (5)