fairly fanciful frights

so, i have a fear that feels quite indulgent. indulgent because it's first, not the end of the world if it actually happens, and second, pretty bloody unlikely to happen.

for those of you who don't know me i will now let you into a not-so-well-kept-secret about my biological rhythms... my blatter is a size that would be more appropriate in, say, a lehmur than a human.

i have to pee a lot. my mum as the same tiny blatter issues. when the two of us go shopping together we plan our route based on washrooms "oh, such-and-such store has a washroom" "i think we can pee at this-and-that place" and so we plan our trip accordingly. (you'd be surprised how many places have public washrooms, but you'd be even more surprised by the number of places when faced with someone who's face is contorted in pain from the expansion of their blatter is begging and pleading with them to please god let them use the washroom will actually throw their head back in laughter and tell you that you cannot use there washroom, and the only one is a kilometer away but you can't drive there, in fact, you have to crawl there on your hands and knees over gravel*)

but my urination habits are not actually the point of this post, rather they serve simply as nessesary background information.

the point is actually my indulgent fear. ready? are you sure? okay then, here it is...

whenever i get on an elevator, if i haven't just taken steps to empty my blatter, i get scared it's going to get stuck and i'm going to have to pee and i'm going to either be in agony, or i'm going to pee myself.

pretty indulgent, eh?




*i am perhaps exagerating ever so slightly here, they might not laugh out loud, but you can tell they want to. and, okay, you don't have to crawl over gravel with bare hands and knees, they give you gloves and knee pads...