In honor of the Kansas City Royals wrapping up a fantastic season, I will share a baseball related story. It is a truly embarrassing tale. One that should never be told. Ever. Given the heightened level of embarrassment, I am forced to use a fake name to protect the identity of my “friend.” Here goes …
Once upon a time there was a princess named Katrina.
Princess Katrina was in her mid-20s, single and had a great time going out with friends. One friend had a boyfriend who had a friend who was also single and everyone thought it would be a grand idea for the group to go to a baseball game together, double-date style.
The foursome met up at Princess Katrina’s friend’s house and drank a few beers. Kind of like tailgating, but it was at a house. Not the stadium parking lot. Princess Katrina has no idea why they didn’t just tailgate at the stadium, but looking back she thinks it would have made a lot more sense. And probably would have saved her from ever having to experience her embarrassing story.
So, the group drank some beers and then made their way to the game. When they finally parked, Princess Katrina had to pee pretty bad. All those beers, you know. So in true lady-like-fashion, she opened both passenger side doors, squatted next to the car and let it flow.
And peed some more.
A trail, no a river, of urine flowed down the asphalt and the rest of the group could not help but laugh and poke fun at Princess Katrina for her bottomless bladder. The laughing was contagious and eventually Princess Katrina found herself laughing. Laughing hard. Which made her pee more. Which made the group laugh harder. Which made Princess Katrina laugh harder. And then …
Princess Katrina immediately stopped laughing. Horrified, she wasn’t sure what to do. A freaking turd had escaped and was on the pavement next to the car! She had to act quick, so she took an empty beer can and blindly swatted at the ground, praying that her quick thinking and swift motion successfully moved the turd under the car.
There was no looking back (literally — she literally did not look at the ground to see if the turd was still there out of fear that her actions would draw the group’s attention to the teeny tiny poo that was possibly next to the back tire. She hiked up her pants and proceeded (quietly) into the stadium with the group.
Poor Princess Katrina spent the entire nine innings worrying about where the turd might be … did the can successfully scoop it up and hide it under the car? What if it was just sitting there, like Mr. Hankey, next to the pool of pee screaming “Howdy Ho! Guess where I came from!” Maybe someone stepped in it? Oh my God! What if someone stepped in it!?!? Oh shit! What if my date steps in it when we get back to the car!?!?!? Her thoughts were racing.
Walking back to the car at the end of the game was a sobering moment for Princess Katrina. She was terrified of all the possible “what ifs” as they got closer and closer. She made all kinds of promises to the powers-that-be should they return to the car and the pavement was free and clear of poo. And when they got there, it was gone. Gone! The can trick worked! Or someone stepped in it. Who cares!?!? It was gone!!! And at that point Princess Katrina swore to herself that she would never, ever, ever tell a single soul about the time she laughed so hard that a tiny turd escaped when she was peeing in a parking lot.
The moral of this story is quite obvious: Never, ever pee in a parking lot. Ever.