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Still, I held it in while I pretended to help Chase pull into the spot and hook us up to all the necessary water and electric or whatever campsites have, and that extra jolt of time not emptying my bladder was enough to make me feel like I might go into the bright light if I didn’t take care of it soon.
Thankfully, Chase took off on foot to the camp store to get some supplies and ice or something I almost listened to him explain, and I jetted into this tiny room like a urine-propelled rocket.
I’m telling you, this kind of bladder release is nearly orgasmic, and for the first part of it, my eyes are half shut in what I can only describe as ecstasy.
Eventually, I shift my line of sight from the teeny-tile floor space in front of the sink to the half-closed vent at the top of the shower. Two, beady little eyes stare back at me with unspent aggression.
What the…?
I squint as my brain tries to make sense of what I’m seeing. Call me crazy, but something about being on the toilet doesn’t combine well with being watched.
The beady little eyes blink and adjust its furry head, and that’s when I realize a freaking squirrel is watching me pee.
It still looks angry. Pissed off, in fact, and seeing as we just got to this campground, I don’t understand where the beef comes from.
Do squirrels bite humans? Do they have rabies? My mind starts to question all the consequences that could come with being attacked by this animal, and I try to force my bladder to finish up.
“There, there,” I coax quietly, hoping to stave off the need for a rabies shot. “Stay calm, little squirrel man. I come in peace.” I snort at myself. “Well, pee-ce if you really want to get down to it, but AHHHHH—”
Glass breaks and babies somewhere in the distance cry as I unleash an unholy scream of epic proportions at the very moment the squirrel lunges right toward me and my marathon pee.
“Ahhhhyyeeeee!” I screech, jumping from the toilet just as my bladder decides it’s done and banging my body into the medicine cabinet above the sink like a wrestler bouncing along the ropes.
The squirrel lunges again, this time, I’m convinced, at my throat, and the bathroom door slams open in dramatic fashion. Chase’s eyes, wild with fear, fill its abandoned space.
I don’t have the time nor concentration to explain, instead hopping garishly to pull up my pants and avoid the squirrel, all while Chase swats an arm toward the offending animal without hesitation. He is in his hero hour, running toward the distressed calls of the damsel in the fire, and I am so close to an out-of-control banshee, I don’t even recognize myself.
I’m impressed with how quickly he assessed the situation for what it was and thankful he didn’t linger too long on the fact that I was full-on vageen flashing when he first swung open the bathroom door.
Benji is barking like a madman now, but since space is few and far between, he can’t get into the bathroom to be Robin to Chase’s Batman.
Plus, he’s not dressed for the occasion. Captain America and Batman never fight crime together. It’s some kind of unwritten DC and Marvel rule.
“Holy hell, he’s angry,” Chase mutters, still solely focused on pest control, and I am zero help.
“He wants to kill me!”
Benji barks, each woof a verbal, “Let me at him, bro! I can handle him!” and I just stand there by the sink, like a woman who forgot how to human.
But the squirrel is still furious and jumping around the bathroom in a way that makes me fear he’s going to find a sharp object to stab me with.
“Ahh! OO-ahh! Shhiiiitakeeee mushrooms!” I yell, my coherence lacking and temperament unhinged. It’s not that I have something against squirrels. I like them, actually, but from a distance. You know, like, when I’m behind a window and they’re hundreds of feet away in a tree.
The squirrel bobs and weaves, and in Chase’s single-minded determination to make contact with the ferocious monster, he elbows me in the tit—like, right in the nipple—and I’m shrieking all over again.
“AHHHYEEEEE!”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry!” he yells, climbing onto the toilet and launching himself on top of the shower door when our furry foe makes yet another frantic move.
I rub at my stinging nipple and try to maneuver myself out the tiny door into the hallway. The squirrel dips and dives, and Chase bellows a battle cry that I’m almost positive alerts the FBI.
I finally manage to exit the bathroom, leaving Chase, the adversarial squirrel, and a toilet full of pee on their own in the small space. I also manage to grab Benji’s collar so he doesn’t slide inside and ramp up this war to a nuclear disaster.
