When life gets too busy or I have nothing to complain about, I just reach back and find something I wrote earlier but never posted (usually because it was uninteresting or poorly written…or maybe even both). This is one of those stories.

Over the weekend I had a particularly embarrassing incident. I woke up in the middle of the night to take a tinkle. I’ve been living in this house for three years; peeing in the same bathroom for three years. I haven’t moved any furniture since the day I got here and am pretty capable of wandering around in the dark. I made my way to the bathroom and started to go…only to discover the toilet seat cover was down. Call me unsivilzed if you want, but I live alone so I never bother putting the cover down. That’s why I didn’t bother to check before I went. In retrospect, I probably should’ve–but it was dark, I was tired, and we’re talking about three years of conditioning here. The sound immediately told me something was wrong so I put the brakes on and assessed the situation. The toilet seat cover was down and I missed like no man had . . . . .