“You better do it now!” his ill-disciplined urinary sphincter warned, 90 minutes into the 2-hour drive to see his niece for the July 4th weekend.

“A few more seconds, alright?” he lectured. “Why can’t you behave like your cousin, the even-tempered anal sphincter, huh?”

He quickened his steps, wondering why shoppers going in and out of the store were not wearing masks.

He paused at the entrance to ease his sunglasses onto his head and to also get his bearing. He was pleased to see that the “REST ROOMS” sign was just a few feet away. He rushed to it, giving an old man relaxing on a bench a thumbs up since he too was wearing a mask.

The spick and span men’s restroom was spoiled by a strong, typical odor. He immediately suspected it was from locked stall #1, a pair of tennis shoes on the floor clearly visible.

“Phew!” he murmured as he waved the #2 smell away. Being pee-shy, he avoided the urinals and opted for the farthest empty stall.

“Aaaaaah!” his chest and shoulders sank as he released a sigh of relief. “Are you happy now?”

He looked down to follow the stream while pondering upon current events and on what he could contribute to improve the status quo. His yearn for utopia was cut short when he realized that his shades were perched on his head.

“What if your shades fall into the bowl? What are you going to do?” he worried. Both hands being occupied, he just held his head still to keep the shades from sliding off. His head frozen at an angle, he noticed a horse fly flitting around the bowl and the raised seat.

“Don’t you dare land on me!” he warned. He was tempted to “shoot” it, but didn’t want to spoil the neatness and tidiness of the stall.

He shook and shook to get rid of the remaining drops. As he zipped up, he felt a sudden warmth on his groin.

“Shit!” he cried when the dreaded PMD (Post Micturition Dribble) happened, the wetness spreading unencumbered on his shorts.

He hastened to stretch the front of his polo shirt to cover the huge wet spot of shame, pull the shades over his eyes, and rushed out of the restroom, leaving the horse fly resting on the raised seat and the pair of tennis shoes unmoving inside the locked #1 stall. He gave the masked old man another thumbs up as he high-tailed out of the store.

“Next time, wear underwear, okay?” he sermonized.