I Was Just Trying to Take A Piss

I had to make an emergency trip to Walmart last night for underwear.

Yeah.

Emergency underwear.

That's apparently a thing in my life now.

I've sold so many pairs of my damn drawers lately that I looked in the dresser last night and realized I didn't have any left to wear to work this morning.

Not one pair.

I stood there looking at an empty drawer thinking, well, Joe, you've really accomplished something here.

Built decks for years. Raised a kid. Kept a roof over my head.

And somehow at 40-something years old I've managed to sell the underwear right off my own ass.

So I had two choices.

Go to Walmart at damn near bedtime or go to work commando.

And look, I'm not against letting things breathe once in a while. But I know how this works. I'd be on a job site about twenty minutes, start sweating, and spend the rest of the morning trying to peel my pecker off my thigh every time I bent over to pick something up.

Didn't sound like much of a Wednesday.

Off to Walmart I went.

Had to piss while I was there.

Walked into the bathroom, stepped up to the urinal, and there's a fella in the stall right beside me taking a shit.

Nothing unusual about that.

Until I hear:

"Baby, I love you."

I stopped for a second.

"Baby, I miss you too."

What the hell.

I'm standing there trying to take a piss and this man is three feet away taking a dump and apparently trying to save his relationship.

"I mean it, baby. I really do love you."

Sir.

Read the room.

I don't know what was happening between him and this woman.

Maybe they'd been fighting.

Maybe she'd left him.

Maybe he'd been gone all day and they just couldn't stand being apart anymore.

I don't know.

What I do know is there are certain times in a man's life when "Baby, I love you" can probably wait four minutes.

Taking a shit in the Walmart men's room is one of them.

Especially when another grown man is standing on the other side of the wall with his dick out.

But this fella didn't give a shit.

Well.

He clearly did.

But not about me being there.

He just kept going.

"Miss you too, baby."

Flush.

"Love you."

Jesus Christ.

I'm trying to finish pissing as fast as I can because now I feel like I'm intruding on something.

Which is bullshit.

I was there first as far as my dick was concerned.

He's the one having date night on the toilet.

I washed my hands and got out of there before he started telling her what he wanted to do when he got home because I didn't need that information following me around for the rest of my life.

Went back out, found my underwear, and headed for the register.

And somewhere between men's underwear and self-checkout it hit me just how fucking strange my life has gotten lately.

A month ago I had plenty of underwear.

Now strangers on the internet own most of it.

YEAH, I REALLY SELL 'EM →

I'm wandering around Walmart at night buying replacements.

And I can't even take a piss without listening to some man take a shit while reassuring the love of his life that she's still the one.

I don't know what the hell is going on anymore.

But I bought a six-pack this time.

Underwear.

Not beer.

Although looking back, I probably should've bought both.

— Joe