Fiance and I finally finished our 21-hour drive to my parents' house. And it was an uneventful trip (thank goodness).
Except for one thing.
It was my turn to drive. Fiance was napping in the passenger seat, and I was singing Taylor Swift songs to myself and guzzling Mountain Dew to stay awake.
Soon, my bladder started to fill up.
"Good," I thought. "Another thing that'll keep me awake."
So I passed right on by the next few gas stations without even thinking twice.
But about ten minutes later, I realized that not stopping was no longer an option. I looked around. There was nothing to be seen on the horizon in any direction besides dead winter fields and more of the highway.
I pulled the seatbelt away from my abdomen, sat up a little straighter, and floored that gas pedal. Wherever the next gas station or rest area was, I would be getting there as quickly as our little car would let us.
Fiance, unaware of my plight, continued snoring beside me.
But a few moments later, I was in a panic. My full bladder was set to explode. My renditions of "You Belong With Me" turned into a long stream of "please, please, please, please..." My eyes were frantically scanning the highway for any sign of a restroom. The rumble of the engine beneath me wasn't helping me at all either.
And then, just to help out (of course), my brain went on a whirlwind of anxiety-ridden trains of thought.
What if the police pulled me over for going 90 mph? What if I told the police officer why I'd been speeding, and, as punishment, he made me just SIT THERE? What if my insides couldn't take the strain and just exploded?
That would be awkward.
I needed to calm down. I started chanting to myself, "you're going to make it. You're going to be fine." I would just stop at the next exit and find a bathroom. No problem.
But the next exit didn't have a gas station. It didn't have anything.
Neither did the exit after that one.
Pretty soon, I was on the verge of tears. I had never in my entire life needed a restroom more than I did at that moment. So I did what any normal person would do. I started shrieking at Fiance until he woke up.
"What?!" He sat bolt upright, convinced, I'm sure, that we were about to die or something.
"Do you have any napkins in your car?"
Yes. I was reduced to that.
It took him a moment to process the fact that we were actually not about to die and that I had indeed woken him up to ask him about the status of his napkin supply. "Um, I think I have one... why?"
"That'll have to work." I pulled the car off the highway on the next exit (which had no gas station in sight) and, dancing in my seat, sped off down a road looking for trees, bushes... pretty much anything.
I don't think I'd ever been that desperate for anything before. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.
It was the first time I'd had to relieve myself on the side of the road in years, but I didn't care. By that point, the only thing that mattered to me was finding somewhere to empty my stupid bladder.
Having my bladder empty again felt like what I'm sure heaven will be like one day. I was almost walking on clouds as I tramped back through the dry sagebrush and bushes to the car. It was almost as though a forty-billion-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders (or my abdomen, as it were).
We were only back on the highway for about three minutes when we saw a gas station on the side of the road.
Fiance nearly died laughing.
How do you keep yourself awake on long car rides?
Have you ever had to use the bathroom on the side of the road?
What's the funniest car-ride story you have?