I was too young to actually remember this story, but my family tells it so often it’s created a memory. One day when I was really little I decided I wasn’t going to wear anything except for my dad’s rubber boots. So I walk out into the kitchen to show off my new outfit only to discover that my parents had company over. I was so surprised I started to pee. It ran straight down my leg and into the boots. I shuffled back out of the room with pee sloshing around my ankles.
In grade five my mom was on this health kick and I wasn’t allowed to eat anything with sugar. Absolutely anything. At recess one day I saw this doughnut sitting just on the edge of the garbage can, like baaarely touching it. So, like any sugar starved ten-year-old, I picked it out and ate the damn thing. The nickname Garbage Picker has stayed with me.
When I was twelve we were on a family vacation and we were all packed into our sporty utility vehicle and brothers and I were fighting our infinite fight. Apparently this time it was my fault because my dad pulled the car over, hauled me outside, and spanked me on the side of the highway for all passing cars to see. And not one single call to child welfare. I guess they could tell it was my fault, too.
I was in swimming lessons when I was about fourteen. During one class, I hopped out of the pool to grab a flutter-board and the lifeguard started screaming at me from across the deck that I was bleeding. I looked down and found out via a stream of quite obviously menstrual that I had started my period. Luckily only everyone in the pool noticed.
One time I was camping with some friends but I had just hurt my knee and was on crutches. I was sitting on the ground when this dog came over and started humping my leg messed-up leg. I couldn’t move my leg to shake him off, nor could I reach my crutches so I tried to drag myself away from him, but he had such a firm pelvic grip on me that I just ended up dragging him around behind me on the ground. Clearly, everyone was too busy laughing to stop my canine rape.
I went to the doctor and he asked me to give a urine sample, except I had literally just gone. I just straight up could not go. Unfortunately the East German Nurse From Hell told me, in front of the entire packed waiting room, to go to the fountain and drink until I was ready to pee. So I suck on the fountain until I feel sick, but the liquid is not exiting my body anytime soon. I go back to Helga the Horrible and try to explain quietly that I am a urinary failure. She does not take this well and tells me I cannot leave until I pee, at which point I begin to cry uncontrollably. Realizing that she has a hysterical person on her hands, she changes her tune and lets me and my empty bladder go so long as she notes in my permanent record that I have “difficulty urinating.”
One time I was out drinking with this guy and along the way I ate some dangerous looking street food. We made our way home and started getting down to business. He was going down on me when out of no where I let. One. Rip. We’re talking demolition explosives. Not a fluff, or a squeak, or even a queef, but a full on motherfucking ass-rumbling fart. Based on his position, I’m assuming that the air probably hit him somewhere in the face/neck region. He didn’t call me again. His loss.
~ Brittney Drysdale
