Classical Sass

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(329) My Ability to Do Things

Calvin and Hobbes, obvs. Image from

I have a condition that involves me thinking I can do things without too much of a hassle, all the while being adamantly unable to do anything without hassle of epic proportions.

It has to do with initial framing. For example, every summer hubs heads up to rural NY at the end of June with the cat. I head up later, with the three dogs. It’s about a ten hour drive, including stops for gas. The arrangement is perfect, because I’m allergic to cats and so a few weeks free of cat fur is vaguely utopic. Hubs taking the dogs as well as the cat is not an option as I would die. We do road trips all the time, and long drives don’t faze us. Our relationship is founded on a routine 13 hour road trip from here to Quebec. The only dismal spot in a long car ride is that it might be good weather and we might not get holed up in a motel somewhere, with cheap drinks and crappy horror movies all night.

So the driving arrangement is perfect, right?

Y’all, when you’re driving by yourself during the sweat-drenched peak of Satan’s armpit, and you have three dogs, where do you pee?


On the morning of my first solo NY drive, I realized I had no idea where to pee. So, I just decided not to pee.

This worked three times, until I turned Fucking Old and damn near didn’t make it one year. I definitely didn’t try to pee at a gas station with my three dogs in tow and get told a frigid no whilst ladies in sweatsuits made the sign of the cross at me. I’m chatting, later, at cocktails with some colleagues and all of a sudden I’m talking about maybe needing to buy Depends because logistical reasons. My colleagues were not amused and probably googled my ass later that night to make sure I hadn’t escaped from anywhere recently. One of them mentioned that those little pit stops that were just bathrooms and nothing else might be unattended and I could get away with peeing there. I’m all, ‘GENIUS!!!’

I pull into a pit stop twelve kinds of excited about my pee break. I march confidently (confidence is everything. no one stops someone marching or prancing into a bathroom stall) through the crowded restroom and into a stall with my three dogs, ignoring mixed murmurs of affection and chagrin. I have my furries sit while I squat. As I start to do my business, Beorn decides to say hi to our neighbor on the left by poking his head underneath the divider. She screams, Beorn startles and hits his head on the divider, the doors to ALL the stalls pop open, everyone screams, and I yank my pants up and mutter ‘sorry’ all the way to infinity as I fumblefuck my way out of there with three bewildered dogs pretending like they don’t remember what it is to walk with a human.

I didn’t even try anything clever on the next trip. I took an illegal pee on the side of a road somewhere. I’m squatting with the dogs in some serious underbrush. Milli is confused and tries to crawl onto my lap, which, PSA, is like Crossfit Squats On Krokodil, and then Ani took a dump on my foot. 
I shake off, pull my pants up, hop back to the car, and start washing my foot, i.e. dribbling water from my near empty water bottle because seven drops of water totally cleans away a large moist turd. All of a sudden, I am itchier than I have ever been and I used to have eczema. My entire crotch is an angry griddle of unfulfilled mosquitos and I realize I have peed on a spiteful fuck trumpet plant that I am most definitely allergic to.

Drove the remaining five hours home with crotch hives and poop foot.

One of these days, I’ll spot a plan to do something and just walk the fuck away. (Except no because why? It probably won’t be too much of a hassle.)