The Milk Jug

When I was three years old, my mother decided to take my brother, cousin, and I to Walt Disney World in Florida.  We weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, so this was a huge treat for all of us.  But it also meant that we had to travel lean.  We drove the whole way, stuffed into my mother’s car, surrounded with all of our gear.  We stopped at night and camped in a little tent in a State Park, before piling back into the car and continuing our journey.

It’s about a 1000-mile journey from our home back then to Walt Disney World, and I probably made it about 20 miles down the road before I had to pee.  Now, keep in mind that I was only three years old at the time, but also keep in mind that it is a generally-accepted fact that I have a bladder the size of a thimble.  This is actually an ailment that still haunts me today.  At the beginning of the trip, my mother would pull over at a gas station or a restaurant and take me to pee.  However, it became increasingly more obvious that I was going to have to stop every 20 miles and pee again.  Do the math, and you’ll realize that that was 50 extra stops just to pee.  At that rate, it was going to take three or four days to get to Walt Disney World, and we just didn’t have that much time.

So, when the next appointed time came for me to express my need to pee again, my mother handed me an empty milk jug.  I looked at it, then her, then it again, and I asked, “What am I supposed to do with that?” 

“You’re either going to have to wait for the next gas stop, or you’re going to have to use the milk jug,” she replied.  “We’re not stopping anymore just to pee.” 

I was aghast…or at least as aghast as a three-year old could be.  “I’m not peeing in that thing!” I exclaimed. 

“That’s fine.  You can wait until we stop for gas then,” my mother replied calmly. 

“But I need to pee now!” I whined.

“Those are your only two options.”

The need to pee was becoming unbearable.  I could already feel the thimble reaching the point of overflowing.  A couple more minutes, and a disaster would ensue.  I was tempted to just pee in my pants to teach my mother a lesson, but the fear that she might make me stay in my wet attire until we stopped for gas dispelled that option.  I looked back at my brother and cousin, pleading with them to come to my rescue, but I was met only with laughter.  Of course, they didn’t have a bladder problem.  They didn’t understand the struggle.  I was running out of options.  I only had moments.  I grabbed the milk jug, crawled to the very back of the car, and I let loose with sweet relief.

I repeated this act every 20 miles or so.  The only thing that made the embarrassment even slightly bearable was the fact that my mother made my brother and cousin empty the milk jug when we stopped for gas.