P In Me’s Panties (slight Irish accent appreciated)

It’s the continuous battle: stay hydrated and risk it when traveling or stay parched and be worry free. I chose poorly. I don’t even remember drinking that much that morning. I was getting on a bus around 11 am to go to Marrakech where I was flying out of the next day. The bus ride from Boumalen Dades to Marrakech is around 8 hours. I remember we had coffee, maybe a full 5 ounces of liquid, that’s it. Either way, after 2 hours inside the bus I felt like I was riding a roller coaster at Carowinds and pushed my safety harness one too many clicks down across my bladder. Luckily these buses do not come equipped with seatbelts, that thing would have been off ages ago. The biggest problem was what I was thinking. I had to keep my mind off my bladder, the ache that constantly reminded me that relief was just a second away (along with wet pants,). I thought we were going to make a quick stop in the province’s capital, Ourzazate, at which time I would hustle into the train station, pay my dirham and use one of the bathrooms there. Oh no, we breezed right by, didn’t even pull down the main strip to the station. I started counting. I started counting to 20 and holding my breath. That was at least taking my mind off my problem. I thought, great, it’s always important to be ready for anything, who knows if I might have to hold my breath for a long period of time underwater as James Bond and I struggle to escape from the sinking vehicle. I got up to 45 seconds and found myself bored but the dull ache had subdued during my 007 training. Oh great, now I am thinking about it again and it cataclysms into a full pee hurt. I was then reminded of pregnant women. Don’t pregnant women constantly deal with this sensation? This sensation of constantly having to use the bathroom? Well fuck being pregnant! I decided right then and there that I will simply insist my partner have a surgery to be capable of carrying a baby: the uterus, umbilical cord, the works. There is no way I am going to walk around for 9 months feeling like this! Jesus. Those poor women. My poor mom. Maybe they wore depends. Maybe they never traveled on a bus full of Moroccans who don’t give a shit that I have to use the bathroom really, really badly. Oh great we are pulling over. Nowhere special, the side of the road. OH! OH! So the 8 year old little boy can go piss. Just great. I look away and try not to think of the events unfolding right in front of my eyes. No way. Now I feel an injustice. I feel prejudice against women. I have to use the bathroom, but for me, out of respect, I would not get out and try to seek some pee shelter off the side of the road. Looks like I am going to have to hold it. The bus starts moving again and I look to see a nice dark puddle in the dirt. Little shit. I start thinking about James Bond (definitely not Pierce Brosnan, the new one), pregnant women, and diapers. The trio don’t work well together but it takes my mind off my aching bladder and the pain subdues, again. Great, I’m going to end up with a bladder infection. Just in time for my vacation to Italy….