Finest Hour

I've been wicked sick lately. Sore, itchy throat. Runny nose. Red face. Feverish eyes. Gut-wrenching cough. I think I'm finally on the downhill of the ailment, but this morning, there was an incident that made me feel like I might need additional help.

5:25 AM: I look at the clock and see I have five minutes before the alarm goes off. I decide to get out of bed.

5:26 AM: The minute my feet hit the floor, I realize I really have to pee.

5:28 AM: The babies (the dogs) and I are upstairs, heading down the hallway.

5:28 AM: I grab a tissue on the way.

5:29 AM: I let the babies outside, realizing I still need to pee. Bad. I think about stepping away, but the basset has to be supervised while outside because she likes to put "unsavory" items into her mouth.

5:30 AM: Holy shit, I really have to pee! I blow my nose.

5:35 AM: The basset has been walking around for a lifetime, finding the perfect piece of real estate to drop off her kids. And finally; she lets them go on a really nice piece of dirt, covered by a gentle layer of snow.

5:36 AM: I cough. Hard. I lose focus.

5:37 AM: It takes me a second or two to figure out that the small stream of warmth I feel running down my leg and into my slipper is, in fact, pee. Not a lot. Just enough to take the edge off.

5:37 AM: Really?!?!

5:37 AM: I eyeball the tissue in my hand.

5:37 AM: I use said tissue to clean up what hasn't quite yet made it into the slipper.

5:38 AM: The basset is finally done. The babies come in.

5:39 AM: I use the facilities. It feels like love. I flush the tissue.

5:40 AM: It's shower time. I set the slippers in front of the heat vent.

5:50 AM: I'm out of the shower. Slipper is dry. All incriminating evidence has been erased.

5:51 AM: I decide this never happened.