Posts Tagged ‘bottles of urine’

It’s inevitable. Any time I empty the car of all its crap, I can pretty much be guaranteed within 24 hours to be needing at least one of the items I’ve removed, such as a hat on a sunny day when I’ve forgotten to pack one for the kids, or a spare pair of kids’ underpants after an untimely ‘accident’, or a slightly-deflated Batman ball to entertain kids on a grassy verge by the road while waiting for the roadside services, police and/or TV camera crews to arrive.

But funnily enough, I never seem to need those petrified crusts of toast again. Unless, of course, I one day find myself strolling through the Dutch countryside and discover that one of the dikes has sprung a leak and have to run to the car – which I’ve had sea-freighted over to Europe at great personal expense in case of such an event – to grab a handful of petrified toast crusts, reinforced with a paste of mushed biscuit crumbs and sultanas, so that I may fix the problem in a jiffy. And yes, that’s rather a long bow I’ve just drawn but I think you’ll find any story where petrified toast crusts come in handy is going to be similarly fanciful. Shit, you people expect a lot from me.

Anyway, the other day, I made the most gruesome discovery in my car ever: a week-old bottle full of urine stored neatly underneath the front passenger seat. And before you judge me, let me just say the “Pee In A Bottle” method has saved me from many a toilet disaster – well, not me in particular (before you judge me even further) but Tiddles McGee, whose anatomy lends itself easily to this method and whose toilet management skills are almost as poor as my husband’s ability to answer the “Do you need anything at the shops?” question (for the record, his answer generally comes after I’ve already started bringing in the shopping bags in from the car).

With the “Pee In A Bottle Method”,  I usually empty it down the nearest storm water drain immediately, but on the occasion of the bottle in question, I was parked on a rather hip’n’happening street, full of groovy young things sitting al fresco and it had already been embarrassing enough to have pulled open the Starwagon sliding door in front of them only to have, along with my brawling children, four empty water bottles, a half-eaten apple and a barbie head roll out onto the sidewalk.

So I’d ended up stuffing the bottle under the front seat instead, else it ended up rolling around the car and be mistaken for a ready-mixed bottle of Gatorade by my husband at a later date (I’m nice like that). And then I forgot about it.

I really should have applied those learnings gained from in-clothes toilet accidents had while out and about. You know that plastic bag that you invariably put the soiled clothes into with the intention of taking them home to wash them? That bag’s nothing but a garbage bag, people. Go on, put the whole thing directly in the bin – else it end up wedged, forgotten, between the child seats and uncovered months later, harbouring its own micro ecosystem.

ANYHOO, all this just makes me think that it’s time my Gallery Of Domestic Godlessness had itself a new wing. Yes, I’m starting a “MY CAR SHAME” section. Contributions can be sent to notdrowningmother@gmail.com and will be treated with the utmost confidentiality, of course.

Because nobody needs to know your car looks like this:


Or this:

Is that my car floor or did my children's wardrobe just vomit?

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