Where's the Head

Being divorced for more than fifteen years, I had learned to do things on my own. I did things my way and had become independent enough not to rely on anyone’s help. To be honest, there were other options for me. My sons were preteens and while they were a big help to me, I still found the need to do many things without asking them for help.

When I didn’t know how to do something, I asked people who knew and followed their advice. I was a fast learner, which helped tremendously.

I was proud of my independence and the fact that what I learned, I could also teach my boys.

Without warning, the unthinkable happened. It was a warm but not hot June afternoon – okay, so it was almost evening since the time on my watch said 5:30pm.

I ran into someone. Yes, I mean physically, ran into someone. I was walking out of the bar where my friend and co-worker and I stopped for a quick drink before heading home; he was walking in. Being rushed, neither of us watched where we were going. BAM! While we didn’t knock each other over, we did cause each other to stumble After the polite apologies for being careless, he offered to buy me a drink. Checking my watch, I knew I had a bit of time before I needed to rush home. My boys had after-school jobs which gave me an additional half hour.

We talked as we drank our beers, then I made my apologies, once again, and I was out the door heading home. He followed me to my car and asked for and received my phone number.

I was at the stove cooking dinner when my boys walked in the front door about fifteen minutes after I arrived home.

I asked how their days were and they asked about mine. After telling them about the horrific day my friend and I with the boss-from-hell, I told them about the man I ran into.

“So, you have a date?” asked my older son.

“No, not yet. I only just met him.”

For the next half hour, they badgered me with questions. “What does he look like?” “Is he nice?” “How old is he?” “Where does he live?” “Is he married?” “Any kids?”

I specified that he was a widower with two kids around their ages.

I answered every question tossed at me to the best of my ability, and still reminded them that we only just met. It isn’t like we were planning a wedding.

Then my younger son asked, “Why’d ya come home so early?”

The rest of the night was spent discussing the days events as I tried to steer them away from Rick. No point talking about someone whom I may never see again.

A week later, there was a message on my answering machine. Yes, we all had and used answering machines. Cell phones were not yet used. That would come about three years later.

Anyway, there was a familiar voice asking me to call him back. I replayed the message. He didn’t leave a number.

The following week, Rick called again. Yet, once again, he left no call back number.

After the third time, he stopped calling. Just to clear things up a bit more, the *69 feature wasn’t available on my phone service so that also left out an auto-redial.

I shrugged my shoulders and thought to myself, “If he wants to find me, he’ll call again.”

He didn’t. Oh well!

The months passed and all seemed fairly calm at work. Nothing major happened to spark a tirade from our boss. Then in September, his short fuse blew the lid off his powder barrel. My co-worker and I couldn’t get out of the office fast enough but had to stay until six that night. Something major was happening the next day and it was our responsibility to set things up.

I called home and left a message for my boys that I’d be late. “Oh,” I added, “Deb and I will be stopping for a beer. I can’t bring this ugly mood home.”

We promised each other one beer, and that’s what we had. We talked about everything but work and that calmed us enough to get back to our personal lives.

As we were heading out the door, I felt someone grab my arm. It was HIM! We were leaving and Rick was entering. Huh! Well, that was a coincidence. It sure wasn’t planned since we stopped at a different bar that night.

“Before you run out the door,” he started, “what are you doing Sunday afternoon?”

“Uh, Sunday?” I had no plans. I had no excuse even if I wanted one. My boys were scheduled to spend the afternoon with their father. I was clear.

“What do have in mind?” I asked.

“How would you like to take a ride on my boat?”

My brain stopped short. Boat? Did he say “Boat?” I was already hooked.

“Just tell me where and what time, and I’ll be there.”

He gave me his home address and the time. I was getting excited about Sunday.

I told my boys about my plans, and they were just as excited as I was.

Friday and Saturday seemed to take forever to end but as soon as the Sunday morning sun peeked through my window, I was up, showered, went to church, and dressed for the day.

It was hard to believe how cool the weather had gotten in three short months. No, it didn’t turn cool. It was downright COLD!

I also know being on the water would make the air feel much colder.

Rick warned me that his boat had no cabin so I’d better dress warmly.

When I arrived at his house on Long Island, I was wearing jeans, boots, a flannel shirt, my winter jacket (which had a hood), and my seaman’s skull cap. Yes, it was cold on the water, but I was dressed properly.

Then a problem arose that I should have anticipated but didn’t. I had to use the bathroom.

Like many women, cold weather jump starts our bladder. Add water to the scenario, and the bladder begins to scream, “NOW. RUN. NOW”

Oh, lord, what do I do?

I looked around and saw no hatch, no door in the center console. Nothing to indicated where a toilet might be hiding.

Rick saw me looking around and asked if I was okay.

“Uh, where’s the head?”

He gave me blank stare not expecting me to use the naval term for toilet. So, I emphasized. “I mean the toilet. I have to pee!”

His face turned ashen. His mouth fell open. His eyes looked worried.

Finally, he said in a whimper. “This boat doesn’t have any, but I do have a bucket!”

When you’ve become as independent as I had, when bladder desperation hits you as hard as it hit me, when you get to that age where nature eliminates modesty, you take and use whatever is made available to you.

“Give me the bucket!”

I walked to the stern (back of the boat) and did my business. Whoa! What a relief!

After our boat ride, we stopped at a local diner and had dinner.

The next day, we went to our places of employment. I told Deb about my date, and we laughed about the bucket.

Rick went to work and told his buddies that he met a woman he plans to marry. Just as Deb, his friends were full of questions. He answered by saying, “All I can say is that she likes boats, doesn’t get seasick, loves to fish, and can pee in a bucket!”

Rich and I were married eleven months later and yes, every now and then, the bucket on the boat comes in handy.