WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT OF BLADDER. MAY INDUCE THE NEED TO PEE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
It all began with a Naughty Vicar. A fresh cuppa Naughty Vicar tea with a dash of sugar and a swirl of milk, that is.The watery city sky was being infused with night and stars outside the window of the London Tea Room where a group of friends and classmates and friendly classmates were gathering around a long marble table and settling in. We soaked up the atmosphere of the tea room. Scones, butter, chocolate, and lemon bars were flung willy-nilly across the table, revolving around the porcelain tea pots.
The reason we were gathering in the city this lovely Sunday night was a meeting to discuss and plan the trip to England that my mom's Brit. Lit. Class it attending in the Summer of 2011. Now while discussing exciting places and weird customs is fun and jolly, I started to tune out when the financial details were brought up. I can safely assume that the feeling was mutual amongst the other youth present. So I doodled, I munched, and most of all I drank. And drank. And DRANK.
It wasn't until we were discussing medical release forms that I realized I'd managed to drink an entire tea-pot of earl grey jasmine tea and a smaller tea pot of Naughty Vicar. And all the milk. We're talking like 9 + cups of tea here. THATS ALOTTA TEA.
Within 15 minutes my bladder was feeling ready to get it's own medical release form. It was like being on a road trip with far and few between pit stops and several cruel friends with water bottles, take that feeling and multiply it by a pot of tea. As discreetly as possible I waddled over to the far door of the tea room, trying not to sway too much. I imagine I looked like a knock-kneed penguin trying to cross the thin ice while running for dear life from a polar bear. VICTORY! I made it to the bathroom door, reached for that beneficently beaming gold handle, turned and- NO. NO. PLEASE, LET THIS NOT BE SO. The door was LOCKED.
What could I do? There was only one bathroom (a terrible idea for a tea room) and the meeting wasn't finished. So I waddled back to my seat, gently sat down, and decided to take a zen approach to the whole ordeal.
I remember reading somewhere that Monks can achieve comatose states of meditation where they are desensitized to the outside world and become so completely focused that you could throw a cocktail party at the temple and they wouldn't even blink. SO as Mom began to discuss flight prices, I began my training as the Bladder Monk.
I breathed shallow, quick breaths. It was imperative that I accomplish my mission. I couldn't close my eyes of course because I was in the midst of a meeting, but I could focus on something...the teapot! I stared at the teapot. Hummmmm....teapot...hummmm...teapot......hummmmm...teapot....hummm- hey, whats that sound? I glance over to the bathroom.
That sweet, heavenly sound was none other than that of a toilet FLUSHING. HALLELUJAH and HOLY SCONES! I staggered to my feet and wobbled like a water balloon of wheels.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Never has a sickly sweet bathroom air-freshener smelt so lovely, thats all I can say. While I might not be able to tell you how i'm getting to England, at what price, or even when I can tell you that I have weathered the bladder battle and will go on this trip more prepared for the Naughty Vicars of England than any guidebook could have taught me.
Shaken, not Stirred,
-Hannah
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