I had that dream again last night.
The one where no matter what you’re doing (and let’s face it, in our subconscious nocturnal wanderings we can be doing some pretty crazy stuff) your bladder butts in and you decide that you need to pee. So naturally, given the freedom of a human mind not tethered by the restraints of time and space, you simply conjure up a handy bathroom, search out a stall, and feel free to relieve yourself. If you’re lucky (or able to regain control of that wayward vision) you wake up before you actually follow through for real.
I hate that dream.
If you can believe “Zoo Weekly” magazine (and who wouldn’t seeing how it’s such a fine piece of journalistic veracity and integrity) 1% of adults wet their beds on a regular basis.
They probably had that dream.
According to much more reputable sources (scientific journals and parenting magazines- heck, even Wikipedia agrees and we all know how reliable that is!) if you’re a female of child-bearing age and you did that child bearing the way God intended, you’re twice as likely to suffer from pelvic floor muscle weakness and an occasionally leaky bladder. Especially if you laugh, cough, sneeze, exercise, are startled, or make any other sudden movement (gee you guys get it good sometimes). And it gets even worse with age (oh joy- something for us all to look forward to)!
It’s called Urinary Incontinence. What a delightful little term that is.
But it’s better than the other types of incontinence one can suffer from. And in the interests of good taste (also lest I somehow jinx myself) I am not going any further down that track in this little blog of mine (for those who really must know, read the opening par on that Wikipedia page, but don’t say I didn’t warn you).
And it’s a profitable business, this incontinence. Take a look at all the products offered in the Health & Beauty aisle at the supermarket next time, if you don’t believe me. Seriously, aside from all of us having that dream at one time or another over the course of our lives, what sort of person sits down and says “I’m going to get rich by selling diapers to grown-ups!”
It’s obvious that someone did. I mean, we all know that even Archimedes had to attend to health and hygiene, what with him having his ‘Eureka!’ moment in the bathtub and all; I just wonder what type of entrepreneur set out to make a fortune out of unfortunate bodily functions. (I'm also suspicious of the inspiration behind the Nintendo® Wii™, just quietly.)
The simple fact that I’m sitting here alone at my dining table typing a blog that may only ever amuse myself and my mother (my most loyal fan, thanks Ma!), in the vain hope that someone someday will stumble across my musings and decide I was the Next Big Thing of the literary world…shows that I have not had any such epiphany of the money-making kind. But, as usual, I digress.
It’s days like these- the morning after the night before, when one has had the misfortune to come this close to convincing their subconscious that they are appropriately placed for nocturnal encounters of the urinary kind- that I up the ante on the pelvic floor exercises, in the hope that even if the spirit is willing the flesh isn’t weak enough to follow through (or to put it terms the men in the audience might understand: the prostate doesn’t perform whilst prostrate).
And as I squeeze/hold/release, I also ponder the person who made the effort to elaborate on exercises purely designed to strengthen the muscles put into play when one pees. And consequently made their mark and their money out of it.
Some bloke by the name of Kegel, if I recall rightly.
I betcha he had that dream too.
Jx
©2010
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Driving Myself Crazy
I have decided that there is no such thing as the perfect car.
At least, I haven’t found it yet and I’ve been searching for the past four months. Perhaps it’s just not in our budget.
What I have found is a bunch of lemons that could never make lemonade even with all the sugar in the world.
I have also found some of the dodgiest car dealers that ever prowled the planet.
Sad to say, there’s a good reason that used car salesmen keep turning up in lists of professions we trust the least.
Aside from the misguided males who seem to think that a female isn’t interested in anything aside from the colour when it comes to choosing a car, I have also come across the fellas who actually believe that you’ll fall for their charms and buy the first vehicle they show you, even though it’s the wrong size, wrong shape, and definitely the wrong price.
And just quietly, I’ve found that if you know more about the car than the ones trying to sell it to you, it’s time to take the exit ramp.
So there’s been a lot of desktop research going on, not only to narrow the selection for the next family bandwagon, but also what to look out for once you take the next step and set foot on the lot.
Oh and there’s nothing like taking a car for a test drive to strengthen the bonds of the family ties.
Yes, the times I have managed to drag my Beloved and offspring along to check out a likely contender, it’s taken twice as long to get the specs on the car, let alone start talking turkey about buying the thing. If it’s not the kids dashing off in different directions exploring every open door in the showroom, it’s my Beloved spotting something else entirely across the lot and throwing that one into the mix, just to add to the confusion.
Mind you, I have discovered that having the kids tag along can work wonders with any less-than-up-front salesmen…they’re usually so keen to see the back of you all that the usual sales-talk game-playing is kept to a minimum and they’ll tell you what you need to know pretty quickly.
On the flipside, it’s hard to haggle over the trade-in when your children blow your bluff about how good your car really is. No good telling the dealer it runs like a dream when the kids in their inherent honesty remind you about that clunking sound it makes.
After all that, even if you find something that suits, ya gotta go with the to-ing and fro-ing of the figures as both sides try to get the most out of their money. And can I tell you how frustrating it is to get “this close” to driving home the deal, only to reach a roadblock where neither side will move any more.
It’s almost as bad as finding your dream car described on one of those car sales sites, and then finding out it’s sold before you even picked up the phone.
Oh yeah, 4 months is a long time in the search for the perfect car.
But I’ll keep walking the walk and talking the talk and we will hopefully reach a satisfactory conclusion before one or both of our current modes of transportation break down once and for all and leave us stranded somewhere even the roadside assistance won’t wanna come (my Beloved and I are placing bets whose car will go first).
Best case scenario, I will finally win that elusive lottery and be able to simply cruise into the caryard of choice and take two, thanks, in matching colours, if you don’t mind.
Which reminds me, research on that has shown that I might have better luck if I actually bought a ticket once in a while…I only hope the car makes it to the newsagent to do so!
Jx
©2009
At least, I haven’t found it yet and I’ve been searching for the past four months. Perhaps it’s just not in our budget.
What I have found is a bunch of lemons that could never make lemonade even with all the sugar in the world.
I have also found some of the dodgiest car dealers that ever prowled the planet.
Sad to say, there’s a good reason that used car salesmen keep turning up in lists of professions we trust the least.
Aside from the misguided males who seem to think that a female isn’t interested in anything aside from the colour when it comes to choosing a car, I have also come across the fellas who actually believe that you’ll fall for their charms and buy the first vehicle they show you, even though it’s the wrong size, wrong shape, and definitely the wrong price.
And just quietly, I’ve found that if you know more about the car than the ones trying to sell it to you, it’s time to take the exit ramp.
So there’s been a lot of desktop research going on, not only to narrow the selection for the next family bandwagon, but also what to look out for once you take the next step and set foot on the lot.
Oh and there’s nothing like taking a car for a test drive to strengthen the bonds of the family ties.
Yes, the times I have managed to drag my Beloved and offspring along to check out a likely contender, it’s taken twice as long to get the specs on the car, let alone start talking turkey about buying the thing. If it’s not the kids dashing off in different directions exploring every open door in the showroom, it’s my Beloved spotting something else entirely across the lot and throwing that one into the mix, just to add to the confusion.
Mind you, I have discovered that having the kids tag along can work wonders with any less-than-up-front salesmen…they’re usually so keen to see the back of you all that the usual sales-talk game-playing is kept to a minimum and they’ll tell you what you need to know pretty quickly.
On the flipside, it’s hard to haggle over the trade-in when your children blow your bluff about how good your car really is. No good telling the dealer it runs like a dream when the kids in their inherent honesty remind you about that clunking sound it makes.
After all that, even if you find something that suits, ya gotta go with the to-ing and fro-ing of the figures as both sides try to get the most out of their money. And can I tell you how frustrating it is to get “this close” to driving home the deal, only to reach a roadblock where neither side will move any more.
It’s almost as bad as finding your dream car described on one of those car sales sites, and then finding out it’s sold before you even picked up the phone.
Oh yeah, 4 months is a long time in the search for the perfect car.
But I’ll keep walking the walk and talking the talk and we will hopefully reach a satisfactory conclusion before one or both of our current modes of transportation break down once and for all and leave us stranded somewhere even the roadside assistance won’t wanna come (my Beloved and I are placing bets whose car will go first).
Best case scenario, I will finally win that elusive lottery and be able to simply cruise into the caryard of choice and take two, thanks, in matching colours, if you don’t mind.
Which reminds me, research on that has shown that I might have better luck if I actually bought a ticket once in a while…I only hope the car makes it to the newsagent to do so!
Jx
©2009
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