I have a confession
to make. I pee my pants.
I'm not talking
about the the dribbles us older women are prone to when we cough or
belly laugh. I am a woman who cannot squat in the woods properly. I
like to think of myself as an outdoorsy woman, but I worry this
failing kicks me out of the running for truly outdoorsy. Sure, I get my own
firewood and Christmas trees. I hike and camp and forage for wild
berries. I ride ATVs and snowmobiles through our magnificent
mountains. But when it comes time to tinkle without a toilet, I pee
on my pants every time.
I've tried
everything I can think of. I've changed my stance and the angle of my
pelvis. I've worked on stretching out tight hamstrings and done
thousand of squats. I've leaned forward and backward and against
trees and logs. Once I even tried just removing my jeans and undies
completely. Let me tell you that explaining wet spots on the jeans
and a certain aroma is much less awkward than explaining standing
alone in the forest wearing nothing but socks and shoes from the
waist down. It didn't help much anyway. I peed on my socks.
I'm embarrassed by
my condition. I don't talk about it. My friends have no idea why I
always camp in established campgrounds with fire rings and picnic
tables... and outhouses. Their impression that I'm a soft city girl
grows when I opt for very short hikes and frequent picnic breaks when
foraging. In established picnic areas of course. My husband
knows of my weakness. I'm sure my mother and daughters know too. They
all piddle properly in the wild, but they never mock my lack.
Recently I finished my business and triumphantly announced to my
husband that I peed without getting any on my pants.
“That's great. I'm
happy for you” he said, then went back to chucking blocks of
firewood into the back of our truck.
Soon a breeze came
up and I felt a cold spot on the back of my right knee, and two on my
left inner thigh. I stopped and craned around to look, then my
shoulders slumped.
“I guess I didn't
actually manage not to pee my pants,” I said.
“I know. I saw,”
my husband replied.
“Why didn't you
say anything?”
“You just seemed
so happy. I didn't want to take that away from you.”
He helped me to see
that my piddling problem actually made me more of an outdoors-woman,
rather than less. Even though I know I will face embarrassment, a mess, and a feeling of failure, I am still out there running a chainsaw,
finding the best berry patches, exploring new trails, and
experiencing the best our mountains and valleys have to offer.
I can be properly outdoorsy. All I have to do is buy a she-wee that fits in my backpack and I'll stop peeing my pants.
