Some emergencies are bigger than others

When our kids were growing up and afternoon cartoons were still somewhat safe, they watched with some regularity a show called “Animaniacs”. As I recall, there was some character that would, from time to time, have a “potty emergency”, running wildly in search of a bathroom. We laugh, but not having a bathroom when one needs one is really not a laughing matter. Worse yet is having a bathroom but not being able to use it.

Which is where our story begins…

One of the many skills acquired in motherhood (along with multi-tasking and making a volcano with vinegar and baking soda) is bladder control, because with toddlers, who has time to go? Some days here at work I suddenly find myself in a certain amount of discomfort because I realize that too many hours have passed and all at once I am in the midst of a “potty emergency”. Fortunately for me, there is a bathroom right around the corner, and when this particular urge came upon me earlier this week, I was grateful to not have far to go. I knew one thing for sure – a trip to the bathroom was absolutely mandatory before leaving for home.

Knowing that relief was soon to be had I was starting to feel better already. And then it happened…my zipper FROZE – there was no moving it up or down, and on top of that, it was a side zipper, with no way to even really see what the problem was. Panic began to set in as the stubborn zipper ignored every effort on my part to get it to budge. I was screaming at it to move and it sassily retorted its intention to stay right where it was. We were at an impasse. I was desperate and that stupid zipper could have cared less.

Now if I lived across the street, I could have laughed at that zipper and run for home. But a thirty-minute drive ensued and I really wasn’t sure what to do. Thinking the dilemma through completely in five seconds, the answer came upon me. I had to make a run for it. Five minutes of zipper war had yielded no results. And with pretty weak wrists (tendonitis), there was no forcing the issue.

So I jumped in the car and began the endless drive home. Thirty minutes might as well be thirty hours when catastrophic bladder failure is imminent. My first move was to call Pete to make sure he was at home when I got there. It was time to call out the big guns because there was no getting out of these pants without him.

Next, I called Heather to give me something else to think about on the way home besides THAT IRRESISTABLE URGE TO GO. She kept reminding me that getting pulled over would only make the interminable trip even longer. I probably would have driven faster were it not for the slow moving vehicle I, OF COURSE, was trapped behind.

Pete promised to leave the garage open and meet me at the door. Sprinting in, peeling layers of winter outerwear, crying out in pain, I was more than ready for the strong hands of my mighty protector to save me from the evil zipper. He pulled, he pushed, and he announced that by golly, it really was stuck.

“How badly do you want to save these pants?” he calmly asked.

“JUST DO IT NOW!!!!” I calmly replied.

I was thankful for his tendonitis-free wrists as he ripped the zipper from the fabric and relief was mine at last.

Do you know that stupid zipper is STILL zipped?

I’ve made a decision. I’m done with zippers forever. From now on, it’s elastic waistbands, baby.