Wherein it is revealed that I am a menace to holding tanks everywhere.

January 19th, 2006 by: cheyenne

Happy belated New Year, a la January 13th. A most interesting year. A year that began with me lying on the floor of a cabin In The Woods after having drunk too much “Delicious Red” (it comes in a box, oh woe) and ended with us, um, actually we were already asleep when the airhorn from some raucous partiers on one of the pirate ships woke us up at, presumably, midnight. Whatever, snore.

One learns things about oneself when one embarks on an open-ended trip in a vessel with a living space of 32 by 6 feet. One particularly glaring example that comes quickly to mind is that my bladder is apparently capable of holding 750 milliliters, at least. Who knew? When’s the last time you had a chance to measure your bladder capacity? Please don’t even try to imagine the circumstances that led me to this discovery because they were traumatic for everyone involved, including the Gatoraid bottle. Let us also not dwell on that little “at least” either because I try not to; we’ll call it an even 750 for the record. 750 ml. At least.

Much time was subsequently wasted on fruitful internet searches. A fin whale has a bladder capacity of 5.5 gallons (that’s 20,069.7 ml more than me). And how about the word “urodynamics.” There are also a whole lot of things that contain 750ml, like bottles of Veuve Clicquot. A most disturbing product called “Papa Bert’s Sippin’ Seat,” which I found in a cheerleading product catalogue no less, boasts some powerful tech writing: “the strong flexible bladder can hold over 3 cups (750 ml) of your favorite warm or cold beverage and can withstand the weight of an adult sitting on it.” It comes in camo. I think it might be the only product that Papa Bert has.

At any rate, it might be a while before I am invited to another boat for cocktails.

2 Comments on “Wherein it is revealed that I am a menace to holding tanks everywhere.”

  1. Kamini says:

    Am behind on reading, so behind on commenting. Have you found the Lady J (otherwise known as the “Freshette”) yet? That totally changed my life. I now pee standing up whenever and wherever I can. One pink funnel brings me as close to manhood as I ever need to be. Also, I’d like to comment that the Delicious Red wasn’t that bad, having tasted some crap from “Nebraska’s Biggest Winery” this last summer, which is on a salt flat. Imagine.

  2. cheyenne says:

    Yeah, the gatoraid-ette doesn’t work nearly so well. Sadly I passed that by at REI right before leaving; I don’t know, maybe the word “freshette” rubbed me the wrong way. I’m sorry now; in a country that does not sell tampons over the counter, I fear the Freshette will be a long time coming.

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