Does the phrase “pee like a racehorse” refer to volume or frequency? If the latter, I’m a thoroughbred.
An afternoon trip to the mall begins with a quick (much needed) stop in the Macy’s ladies lounge. A pass through dresses, quick Sephora shelf-browse, zip to L’Occitane and stop at Papyrus later, and I have to pee. Again. Not entirely certain if it's a required void or precautionary, pre-drive home event.
I piddle like a champ, my motto is “piss clear.” Cloudy lemonade isn’t sweet, one should strive for water with a squirt of lemon. According to Dr. Oz, Oprah’s medical sycophant but downright sexy in those powder blue scrubs (I think he goes commando), you should be able to read through it. I know the frequent tinkle isn’t a worry medically; during my annual well-woman, lube and tube exam a week ago, the physician’s assistant was giddy over the quality of my juice. If she could, I’m guessing she’d have bottled some for display in the waiting room.
No, I’ve become a girl who pees. Middle of the night, one more for the road. Just thinking long and hard enough about it and I'm a go. Luckily the kegel’s are holding so a sneeze doesn’t bring a trickle.
Vodka is clear. Perhaps I’m diluting a wee bit.