Wil Winters Waters the Garden

... when you gotta go, you gotta go

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Did you ever hear about when I went to visit an esteemed writer friend’s house? This guy, let’s call him Nick, is a well-respected author of international fame.

The bus ride had been long, tedious, and very, very bumpy. Do you know how I knew it was bumpy? It was a scorching summer afternoon in Brisbane, and I had drunk a lot of water on my walk to the bus stop. Water that, as it turned out, I had only negotiated a short-term lease for. Each pothole was a testament to the endurance of the human bladder, but also one step closer to humiliation. I know a lot of people have peed on buses and trains, but damn it, I have a few shreds of dignity left, preventing me from joining their shameful ranks.

There, but for the grace of the gods, go I. Or do I?

I arrived at Nick’s house, feeling like a fire hydrant about to burst. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I knew I was in trouble. I rang Nick’s doorbell, but there was no answer. I tried again and again, beating my fists on the wood panels between chirps, but still no answer. The pressure kept building, and I knew I couldn’t hold it for much longer. Agony is not something with which your bladder should be protesting, but here we were.

I desperately looked down the street for a park or a shop, trying to find somewhere to go, but there were no public restrooms nearby. The only option was to ask Nick if I could use his bathroom. But where was he? I decided to take a look about his garden, hoping to find him there.

As I walked past the porchester, I sighted the perfect spot to relieve myself. It was secluded, hidden from the road, and it had a nice flourish of marigolds that would conceal any puddles I might make. I rushed over, unzipped, and felt the delirium of relief as I let it flow.

I finished up and skipped back to the front porch, a much happier, far less desperate man. My plan was to wait on the seat in the afternoon breeze for twenty minutes in case he had popped out for a quick errand.

My tush had barely touched the cushion when the front door opened. Nick emerged.

”Hey Nick,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Wasn’t sure if you were in."

"Hey,” Nick said, leading me into his house. I tried to act natural, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he might know what I had just done.

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