A picture and a letter

Dear Bladder,

I know we've never been best friends. In fact, ever since I've been potty-trained you have made me a laughing-stock among my acquaintances with "normal" bladders ("normal" meaning not having to use the toilet every 2 hours). I have visited numerous doctors because of you. I was around 5 or 6 years old when you convinced my poor parents that I had diabetes because I was in the can so often. The doctors continually told me I didn't have a problem. But I do. The problem is you.

I could write a successful book (or blog for that matter) about the nuances of every women's room for amusement parks this side of the Mississippi. You have forced me to navigate the rest areas and fast foods joints at every exit of interstates 64, 95, and 81. My friends chuckle as I politely excuse myself multiple times through dinner. Aisle seats are a must-have on airplanes and in any seating arrangement, while sitting through Harry Potter movies has become a form of medieval torture.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I had kids...

Now instead of being able to sleep for 8 hours straight, I am now forced to take 3 hour naps every night in order to appease your insatiable appetite. Even trips to the grocery store or mall must be planned out in case you sadistically decide to toy with me. So today I take a stand in writing this letter of formal protest. I would trade you in for a better model, but there are no refunds or exchanges. Even those stupid pills designed for women twice my age aren't an option. I know you are eagerly awaiting the day when I have to head through the "Incontinence" aisle at my local pharmacy and purchase numerous items for your amusement. And you are not allowed to lecture me about kegel exercises, which are simply just another one of your pathetic excuses to make me do ALL the work in this relationship.

You suck, bladder.

Resigned to suffer in silence like so many of my comrades,
Jen