P Is For ...

This morning, Brad had a cup of tea. And Innis had his nap. And these two events are not usually amazing enough to post about in and of themselves, but there is more to this story.

Oh yes.

So, Brad has the bladder of a girl. And what I mean by that is that he has no capacity. When he has to go, he has to go. Now, I do not have a girl bladder. I mean, I do, but it's not a wussy girl bladder. I can hold it. I'm an expert holder. Traveling with Brad, on the other hand, is a nightmare. I can't tell you how many cumulative hours I've spent pulled over on the side of the road, waiting for him to pee into ditches. Or how many times we've been on hikes and the poor unsuspecting dogs have unwittingly raced past Brad en flow and received golden showers. Not intentional showers, mind you, but our dogs can be particularly unaware of their surroundings and are rather stupid.

And when Brad consumes any amount of caffeine, his response is immediate.

So, this morning, Brad was bursting, but he didn't want to creep upstairs to the bathroom and risk waking Beastly. So, while I was out of the kitchen, he PEED INTO AN EMPTY ORANGE JUICE CARTON. Now, if I had been in the room, I probably would've prevented him from doing this, but I wasn't. And if I had come into the room shortly thereafter, I probably would have (quietly) shrieked some admonishment (something to the effect of: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!?), and then requested that he pour the contents of the juice container into a remote corner of the garden. But, again, I wasn't.

And so Brad set the (rather full) carton down, with every intention (I'm sure) of taking it up to the toilet once Innis awoke. He thought he was being helpful, because now Innis could sleep longer. He figured he'd take care of it before any of us realized there was a container of human urine on the kitchen floor.

But then he forgot.

So fast forward to later this afternoon:

Brad: Did you empty this orange juice carton?

Me: What? Why would I do that? What was in it?

Brad: I peed in it.

Me: ... ?

Brad: I didn't want to wake the baby.

Me: Are you serious?

Brad: Yeah, and now it's gone.

Me: What do you mean, GONE?

Brad: I PEED in this carton, and now it's EMPTY.

Me: (spinning around to look at Scarlet with horror) Do you think she ... drank it?

Brad: (laughing) I don't know! I don't know!

Me: OR ...

Brad: Or what?

Me: Was Innis in here? Was he ... playing in it? Do you think he tipped it over?!?!

Brad: I don't think so ... but if he did, where'd it go?

Me: Like, OTHER THAN ALL OVER OUR INFANT SON, you mean?

Thus, we did some sleuthing. And it turns out that because our house runs downhill, so do all liquids spilled therein. So we were able to track down the pee (it wasn't that far away), but even so, there was decidedly less to mop up than what Brad claimed he originally deposited into the container earlier this morning.

So. Since Innis's clothes were dry, and Scarlet's personal habits are revolting, we're going with the hypothesis that she drank Brad's pee out of the container while we were out of the room, and because she's ridiculously clumsy, knocked the container over when she jerked her snout out of the carton.

Bypassing, of course, the FULL DOG BOWL OF CLEAN, SPARKLING WATER RESTING SIX FEET TO HER LEFT.

But I mean, really. What is there to expect from a dog whose owner pees in random containers and leaves them lying around the house? Nothing less than this, it seems.

Comments

[Claire]

I think I'd have more understanding if Brad was drunk, but he doesn't drink... Boys are gross!

[Victoria]

I quite enjoyed this post, complete with deep guttural chuckling. High five Brad for me!

[Meredith]

I. Have. No. Words.