Mom’s™ Accident

Let’s go back to Scarborough. 9 Berkham Road. The upstairs bathroom. I don’t think anything particularly memorable was going on, brother was literally just using the bathroom. I don’t recall if it was to poop or to pee but he was in there. Probably getting distracted sitting on the toilet and staring at our semi-broken towel rack contemplating the meaning of life or the intersection of the letter X and why that wouldn’t just be a Y. Either or. I remember Mom™ needing to use the bathroom and her crossing her legs outside the bathroom like a little kid with newly trained control of their bladder impatiently bending over and clutching her thighs. She probably needs to go to the bathroom, I thought. But I move on, go into her bedroom and watch some TV because obviously she’s an adult and will find a way.

She found a way alright. Some time later I leave her room and she’s sitting on the ground legs spread out like a V, in a puddle of her own pee. I immediately crack up and slowly die with laughter and genuinely confused and ask “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

She’s literally just sitting there in the most casual way, in a way that you would sit when you’re waiting for the bus to arrive. Basically twiddling her thumbs like nothing else was going on. She looks up at me and says that my brother was in the bathroom and that she couldn’t hold it. So here she was. No attempt to get up and clean it up. Just sitting in a puddle of her own doing. And chillin. Brother later leaves the bathroom, sees what I see, and joins the both of us in deep belly-pain in the chest-can’t hardly breathe laughter. I’m almost on the floor with laughter until I realize I can’t fall over because her literal piss had filled that hallway like that scene in Crazy Rich Asians where water slowly flows down the wedding aisle.

Brother is crouching almost on the floor himself, in a dry safe zone by the bathroom sink while I’m stranded in the splash zone behind our Mom™ who isn’t getting up from the puddle or at least making an attempt to. We’re all laughing and I’m super grossed out (because I was a literal kid and wasn’t used to seeing adult bowels on a daily basis yet) but she finally gets up and I can’t remember how the clean up goes. Maybe I blocked it out as an early trauma response. We will never know. But all I remember is getting a bunch of kitchen towels ala Big Daddy and laying them over the puddle.

But I only imagine that as soon as she got up, that pee would flow down her legs, drip down her cotton capris and leave a trail with every step she took. Lol the imagery is glorious.

Thanks, Mom™