So.. during the Oscars the other night, one of the world’s funniest women did a commercial that made me laugh, and cross my legs. Whoopi, oh how I love thee!
Shhhhh! Women are not supposed to talk about this! *tap tap* I am not one of those women. And I mean, the ones that don’t talk about it. I am definitely the kind of woman that pees her pants and will tell you about it. Yup. Not proud, but it is part of my life. Like sneezing is for you, only in a more downward direction, for me.
I blame it on babies.. especially that last one, the BOY. I swear that doctor was saying “GO” while I was pushing. Apparently he was saying, “NO!” But his accent was so thick that it wasn’t until he was shielding his eyes and screaming…”¡Ay Caramba!” that I realized he probably was saying “¡NO!”
And so, it goes.
This is my life. If I sneezed, I tinkled. If I coughed, I pittled. If I laughed, I leaked. And if I laughed while dancing after drinking………..Niagra friggin falls, my friends! I used to pack a change of clothes for myself in my kid’s diaper bag. I cannot make this up. And I know I am not alone, because according to Whoopi, who would not lie to us, 1 in 3 women suffer from some kind of urinary incontinence . True dat.
Now, those who know me, hell, if you’ve even MET me, you’ll know that I live to laugh, love to dance, and both are better with drink in hand. So I’m not gonna sit around in the Lu while everyone else is out having fun. No way. I went to my doctor. We made a plan.
You know, for something we never talk about there sure are a lot of options out there! My doc and I first decided I should exercise my pelvic floor and sent me to a physical therapist. A woman thankfully, but then, this was the closest thing I’ve had to a lesbian experience and this was not how I imagined it I am straight. And the word sphincter is now on the words that I hate list.
Who are we kidding? I hate to exercise. Hate. Even my girly parts. You know, if you go to the gym some beefcake can tell you if you are doing your curls right. They have ways of knowing if you are exercising your girly parts correctly. Two ways. One is called biofeedback. The other one, YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW. Let’s just say…. I didn’t know whether to cry or have a cigarette.
So I called a surgeon. Surgery is for exercise haters, aka, my people. I went to sleep and woke up with a brand new bionic hoo-haw. My first “lift” you could say. Things were great. I was laughing! Dancing! Drinking! And flu season? BRING IT ON!
But, alas, that was some 7 years ago and……………gravity. *sigh*
In the epic battle of the Ha Ha vs. the Hoo- Haw, the latter is in the lead. I think I’ll be calling that surgeon again soon, for a bit more of an overhaul, than a lift. In the mean time, I’ll go out for a good time, prepared for the inevitable.
My friends have always used my ‘accidents’ as a measure of their funny. “Hey! I made Lisa pee!” and high five each other. Kind of like making a new born baby smile at you. That kind of success. Some have even made movies about it, like my beloved Jennyonthespot.
She knows me well and has made me pee many times. But I make her snort. Snorting is better than laughing with your hoo-haw. I’d take snorting over peeing any day. She bought a funny card for me, even though it was not my birthday. It read:
Happiness is like peeing your pants……everyone can see it, but only you can feel it’s warmth.