Sipsey Wilderness. We went all-out, bringing hamburgers to grill, as well as coleslaw and potato salad, and all the bottled water your heart could desire.
I am not – and I’m certain that this will astound you – much of an outdoorsy girl, and so I asked several times for reassurance from Fred that there would be bathrooms there. He assured me that there would be, and so I was looking forward to getting there, taking a little hike, and being able to pee whenever my little heart desired, though I suspected I might have to battle mosquitos and spiders so that I might pee peacefully.
Look, I drink a gallon of water a day. I need to know that I can pee when I need to, so stop rolling your eyes at me.
When we reached our destination – an hour’s drive from home – I really needed to pee. We left the cooler at a picnic table overlooking the river – which was very very shallow – and went on a search for toilets.
There were none. Apparently, in the 20 years since Fred had been there, they’d decided that toilets were more of a nuisance than they were worth and taken them out.
I was, as you can imagine, a happy, HAPPY girl. At the age of 34, I have never ever EVER even once peed outside. Never. Why? Because I know that I’m an uncoordinated freak and chances are very good that I will pee all over myself and my pants, and so I’ve always just held it until I could use a bathroom or port-a-potty.
There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Not only did I pee in the woods, but I peed TWICE, and got nary a droplet of pee anywhere on my legs or clothes. I did, stupidly, use a crumbly leaf to wipe afterward the second time, so that I was finding little pieces o’ leaf for the rest of the day, if you know what I mean.
As we left for home, we drove by a little parking lot we’d passed on our way in. I squinted at a little building and said “Hey. Isn’t that a bathroom?”
And it was.
I hope that leaf doesn’t give me a damn yeast infection.
We went for a nice little hike, wherein I took 45,000 pictures (Fred will have them up on his site later today. Is that fair, I ask you? I take all the pictures, and he steals them?), and all over the place we saw these adorable, tiny little toads.
I even picked one up.
Adorable little toads, I like. Big, meaty frogs? Not so much.
* * *
Poor Spot. Poor, spazzy Spot. His two sides war with each other every single day. On the one hand, he wants very much to be a lap cat, to lay on your lap and be scratched behind the ears, to hear you speak words of love, and hug and kiss him.
On the other hand, he was obviously abused in some way before he showed up at Fred’s doorstep, because as much as he wants to be close to you, he’s scared. If you are walking across the room, and he’s anywhere in the room, he freaks out and thinks you’re coming after him. His favorite spot when I am not in the bedroom is on my side of the bed, close to my pillow. He’ll stay there all day long. As soon as I come into the bedroom to get dressed or take my shower, or whatever, he runs and hides under the bed.
And then sometimes – like last night – I’ll be sitting at my computer, and he jumps up on my desk to sit on the pillow on the corner. He lays there, purring wildly, looking slightly disgusted at the fact that I’ve left a bra sitting on the corner of the desk. He lets me scratch him under the chin and behind the ears, and when I take my hand away, he reachs out his paw to grab my hand.
All he wants is love. But at the same time, he’s scared of the ones who want to love him.
Poor Spot.
* * *
By the way, I DID get the tickets to the American Idol concert in Nashville, and I’m thrilled out of my gourd. What’s even better is that the seats are close to the stage, so that when I bellow “I LOVE YOU, KELLY!”, she’ll probably even hear me.
Heh.]]>
2002-09-09