It could always be worse

I realized two things today. 1.) I could never be a criminal 2.) The saying “it could always be worse” is really true.

My morning began with your average drug test. I have decided to go back to work and it is required by the company. It’s time to rejoin the workforce. My uterus is in retirement. I will have an empty nest during the school day. It’s time.

The test itself only took about 10 minutes, but it was a very stressful 10 minutes. “You have to deposit 50 cc of urine in this cup. If you don’t produce enough you have to stay here for up to 3 hours until you can,” the technician explained. After three children I can pee when I sneeze or laugh, but I don’t know if I can’t urinate under pressure. She escorted me into the bathroom, “You are not allowed to flush the toilet or wash your hands until I examine the bottle. I will be standing outside the door. You have four minutes. Good luck.” Good luck? Am I on some sort of freak game show? Will confetti drop from the ceiling if I complete the mission in time? Now, I was really nervous. If you have a vagina, you know how difficult it can be to hit the target. (I still can’t figure out why it is so difficult for men.) So, I’m standing there with a cup of my own urine, a wet hand and the clock is ticking. I have to get my pants up in the next minute. I frantically wiggled, jumped and tugged until they were buttoned. Then, shouted victoriously, “I’m done!”

I was glad that was over. The rest of my day was stress free. Then, the phone rang. It was the nurse at my 7-year-old son’s school. “He isn’t sick,” she said. Phew! “Unfortunately, there was some projectile vomiting in his class.” My kid was in the line of fire. “A friend sitting next to him puked all over the back of his clothes.” First of all, I don’t know if I would call a kid who pukes on you a friend. I guess my son tried to escape, but couldn’t run away fast enough. “Could you bring him a new shirt?” Call me crazy, but I would rather he come home to shower. He was thrilled to get out of school early. I, however, was not nearly as excited to wash clothing covered in another child’s vomit. I was gagging while putting everything in the washing machine. Suddenly, pissing on my own hand in under four minutes didn’t seem so bad.

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