Now, I know what you’re thinking– “This bitch is probably writing about something that happened in the first grade. I could be masturbating or eating Hot Cheetos instead of reading this. Fuck Annie, and not in the good way.”
Let me assure you:
a.) This bitch actually peed herself as a 22-year-old adult.
b.) I fully support masturbation. Jack off to your heart’s desire.
c.) I would be eating Hot Cheetos, too… if I made more than $10 per script as a reader and could afford luxury cheese-flavored snacks.
d.) I actually get that a lot, so that insult has no effect on me.** Hahahaha, go lower someone else’s self-esteem, you human penis!
I am very prone to getting urinary tract infections. Maybe it’s because I “forget” to shower every day or genuinely forget to drink water. Whatever the case may be, it happens a lot– three times this year and counting! And it sucks. If you’ve never had a UTI, imagine having to pee while on the longest road trip ever… only there are no rest stops, and the floor outside the car is lava, so you can’t get out under any circumstances. And then when you finally do find an empty Big Gulp cup in which to empty your bladder, you find out you actually didn’t have to pee that much. Annoying, right? Well, that’s not it, sucka! After you’re done, your whole body spasms and everything down there burns like it’s that outside-the-car floor lava that came out of your goods instead of urine. It’s super fun.
After my second UTI/trip to urgent care this year, I should’ve learned my lesson. The doctor who saw me that time asked how many times I peed per day. “Two.” “Nope!” was his response. He told me to drink more water and take cranberry pills before side-eyeing me and shaking his head as he left the room. But noooooo, I didn’t want to listen to this intimidating doctor who reminded me of Mike Ehrmantraut from Breaking Bad. I mean, what do doctors know, anyway?
Two months later I found myself in urgent care after having not consumed water for a day following an intense workout. I now admit that Dr. Ehrmantraut maybe, kinda knew what he was talking about. I had a feeling things were worse than before. Mostly because I couldn’t go more than 20 minutes without running to the restroom. When I arrived at the office, I was pushing the longest 25 minutes of my life since I last peed. I ran up to the check-in desk and threw my health insurance card at the receptionist, hoping that would communicate to him that I was in a hurry. It didn’t. So, I begged to use the restroom upon telling him my reason for the visit. Still no sense of urgency.
At this point, my bladder felt like it was on fire. As the kind, slow man typed my information into the computer, I repeated to myself, “Your body is playing a trick on you. You don’t have to pee. Don’t be stupid. This is what separates us from dolphins.” I guess thinking of majestic dolphins swimming in the wet, wet ocean wasn’t a good idea, for the next thing I felt was warmth trickling down my leg and into my left flip-flop. Then Pokey the Receptionist led me on the longest walk through the waiting room and to the restroom, letting the other patients get a look at Bitchface McPeesHerself.
I’m not exactly sure what the crime scene looked like in the waiting room, but I’m convinced some kind of clean up was required– all of which happened while I was in the restroom for two minutes because I’m sure the workers there didn’t want to embarrass me. I was, however, moved into a private waiting room when I returned, with no explanation. I think it was probably the one reserved for the self-urinators and ebola patients. When I saw the new, non-intimidating doctor a few minutes later (Hey! Peeing yourself makes things happen faster!), he told me to… drink more water and take cranberry pills. Who would’ve guessed? Not me.
Really, though, If there’s anything to be learned here, it’s that urine has no visible effect on Rainbow brand sandals. And to, like, drink water. Because apparently that’s a thing you’re supposed to do.
**I’m not crying in my room and listening to Flo-Rida, I swear.