Ahhhh, the creature comforts of an inside toity.
But when you're camping, this is not so. And it wouldn't be a Camp Tale if I didn't have some toity humor now would it?
Most toilets at campsites are vault toilets, literally, a big, foul bucket of shit, and most vault toities lack even the most primitive amenities: running water, or if you DO have some, it's cold only, often no soap, no paper towels, and usually no overhead lights, so you do your business in the middle of the night, in pitch black. Not a very cheery notion, mind you, when, sitting there, you start thinking of what's directly under your bottom and all the creepy crawlers and spiders who might be laughingly eyeballing your anus and wondering what you taste like.
So imagine it's 2:00 a.m. and you're snuggled into your mummy bag when you feel a good pee coming. Oh, no, you think, so cozily wrapped up in your bag, with your pillow perfectly adjusted. Maybe I can just ignore it and it'll go away. Only the pressure is overwhelming, "I'm gonna pee my pants if I don't go immediately" and you frantically start unzipping your bag, preparing to get dressed, find a flashlight and trot off to the pit-toity, which means a good hike through the woods and better lace up your shoes and get completely dressed while you're at it.
Just to take a leak.
Who wants to do all that?
I've never seen the point to all those steps. Firstly, why the hike? Secondly, it's at night. Unless people have night vision, who's gonna see you takin' a leak?
So this year, as Doooders was strapping on her headlamp, sighing and pulling on her shoes, lacing them, pulling on a sweater, I slipped on my flip flops and said,
"Go ahead without me. I'm gonna go right here," I said. There was a pause as Doooders must have been mulling this over.
"OK. But don't pee too close to the tent," Doooder warned. I didn't bother with pulling on pants. After all, I'm in the middle of the Utah desert, in the middle of the night. Who's gonna see? I pulled on my head lamp, to see where I was going, lest I stumble upon an angry rattler, and lurched out of the tent.
Getting out of a tent is always an act of acrobatics and balance as you step over the doorway and stand up at the same time without bonking your head on the rain-fly while simultaneously quickly zipping the tent up to ward off spiders, ticks, and other rude blood-suckers. I wobbled a good three feet away, then mused another foot away or so might be prudent. I assumed the splayed position, yawning then threw the toity paper in the fire ring, turned off my head lamp then stumbled into bed.
The next morning as I woke up and pulled on my shorts and went outside, Doooders stood brewing up some coffee.
"Dude," Dooders began and poured two cups. "You gotta find a different place to pee. I said not to pee too close to the tent."
"I didn't," I sorta lied. "What's the big deal? It's not like I peed on the tent or something," I noted.
Doooders proceeded to tell me, that with my BRIGHT head lamp on, and in my mildly intoxicated "Who cares" frame of mind, I had not thought to check to see where I was peeing in proximity to the shit-house. Apparently, I peed in a wide-open clearing, and since there were others also peeing but peeing in the shithouse where you're supposed to pee in the middle of the night, everyone could see me peeing.
"It was like you had a neon light flashing over your head. I could see you way over at the bathroom. 'Look everyone. I'm peeing," Doooders described.
Oh well. All's well that ends well. I could have had an accidental "Shi-pee-pee" then that would have DEFINITELY been classy, suave and sophisticated. Indeed, that would have been quite a show for a bleary, half-asleep camper.
Hee hee. Stay tuned.