Every freaking time I decide to put on clean pajamas no more than an hour afterwards, I have the urge to sneeze violently and thus pee myself a little.
Not so much as to douse my clean pajamas. But just enough to make sure I have the feint smell of dried old lady pee hanging on me until I decide to give in and put on another pair of clean pajamas and then wait for the same thing to happen all over again.
The laundry pile grows higher with just slightly peed upon pj’s and I try to justify not adding to it by telling myself, who the hell cares if I smell a little like pee? The cats don’t seem to mind. I have to be honest. I barely even notice it. I realize that the battle between being slightly damp and having the energy to tackle that giant pile of laundry will inevitably be won by my desire to just go the hell to bed.
The thing about cliches is they exist for good reasons. The one about the dotty old lady with a bunch of cats who wanders the world smelling faintly of piss? Yeah. Well, as it turns out, it’s pretty goddamn reliably accurate.
It sucks to become a cliche. I suppose it happens to all of us one way or the other.
That said, I better remember to call The Great Scott to let him know that I’m not sure that bladder drug he has me on is working out so well.
It’s always freaking something.