Let’s face it. There is something fun about breaking the rules, for us control freaks there is nothing better. Live dangerously, give it to the man. Mark your territory. Or maybe, just maybe, you just don’t care.
Life is full of simple pleasures, holding a loved ones hand, napping, napping in the sun, fresh bed sheets, Shawshank beers, sweet corn in the summer, maybe you have a favorite.
Most men I know walk upright despite urges to the contrary. At different times in our lives we can feel the proverbial pull of our inner caveman. Eat a chicken wing once you’ll see. Watch WWE or CSPAN. (is CSPAN still a thing?) We are really not as far away from Fred and Barney as we think.
Like Bigfoot and Cro-Magnon the common homosapien, male, mind you, takes great pleasure in urinating in the open air. Preferably - for me anyway, in the cool night air.
No one was more prolific in their love to pee where you shouldn’t than my father. He was an artist. It was a gift, that he was able to pee virtually anywhere without consequence. Maybe it was his charm, maybe it was out of necessity. One thing for sure it was all about the human condition.
When a guest at Northwest Ohio’s premiere ethnic festival can you really be expected to wait in the gargantuan line like the rest of the patrons? Nope you go and water the stones behind the port-shitters. Sure you get to meet a deputy sheriff but somehow he talks his way out of it.
On your way to a Tigers game and stuck in construction traffic? Yep out of the car and let ‘er rip. Car horns be damned! Speaking of Tiger’s games when parking directly in front of the stadium the bushes are your urinal! Does it matter that the stream is going through the bushes and on to the sidewalk? Nope!
Pull in from a hard days work. Say thirty feet from your own indoor urinalarium? Where do you go? Right in the driveway is the correct answer. Does your job sometimes require you to drive twenty minutes past your son’s fake truckstop? Well if it does feel free to pull in and whiz anywhere you’d like!!!
His ability to pee outside and anywhere it was frowned upon was only eclipsed by an emergency code brown. Sometimes a wicked case of Onionitus or maybe an extra draft beer.
Often the truck left running in the driveway and the pants falling to the floor as he entered the kitchen, using Lamaze like, advanced breathing techniques in a dire attempt to hold back the flood gates. It was like watching an agonizing well choreographed ballet. Timing was mission critical. During the refractory, cool down period he would often forget about the still running vehicle in the driveway. Small price to pay for a successful Code Brown diversion.
Watch here for more stories about my father and his distain for rules.
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Love and Hugs
Miked, MMFIC