Wife – “Slow down. You’re gonna get us killed.”
Out-Numbered – “I can’t. If I don’t get to a bathroom in less than a minute, I’m gonna shit my pants.”
Wife – “Why do you eat Pizza and Ice Cream if you know it’s going to make you sick?”
Out-Numbered – “Because I’m a moron. Can you please not give me shit right now. I can’t talk.”
Pulling up to the Hotel, we notice 4 Fire Trucks and a Police car parked in front. Something’s going on…
Out-Numbered – “Roll down your window and see if we can go in. QUICKLY!”
Wife – “OK. Jeez.”
Rolling down the car window
Wife – “Officer, is everything OK? Can we go inside?”
Police Officer – “Yes Maam. Everything is fine. Just a blown transformer across the street.”
Wife – “Great. Thank you.”
Rolling up the car window.
Wife – “He said everything is fine. Just a blown…”
Out-Numbered – “…Transformer! I HEARD! I need to stop the car and run to the room. Grab the kids and I’ll meet you inside. I can’t hold it in anymore. FUCK!”
Wife – “OK. GO! WAIT! Take the left over pizza from the back seat.”
Out-Numbered – “Are you fucking kidding me? YOU TAKE THE PIZZA!”
Wife – “Sorry, GO!”
Clenching my ass tightly, I scurry through the Hotel Lobby and find the elevator.
Out-Numbered – “Shit. What’s my room number? God Damn!”
Brisk walking like a duck with a pulled hamstring, back to the front desk…
Out-Numbered – “Excuse me Miss. Can you please tell me what room number I’m in?”
Front Desk Lady – “Why yes but the power is out throughout most of the Hotel due to the blown transformer, so the keys aren’t working.”
I start to notice families with their kids, in Pajamas, sitting and wandering throughout the lobby. I’m starting to break into a cold sweat.
Out-Numbered – “How do I get into my room? It’s an emergency.”
Front Desk Lady – “If you can just wait a few minutes, I’ll walk you upstairs. I have the master key.”
Out-Numbered – “Where’s the bathroom?”
Front Desk Lady – “I’m sorry. Give me one minute to finish helping this woman.”
Out-Numbered – “THE BATHROOM PLEASE!”
Front Desk Lady – “Right at the end of the hall Sir. There’s no power though.”
Sweating profusely, biting my lower lip, I feel myself starting to lose control. I can barely walk fast enough. I shuffle down the hall, in a way that must have looked like, a cross between the Turrets Electric Slide and The Spastic Safety Dance.
I hear my wife calling from down the hall…
Wife – “What are you still doing here? Did you go to the bathroom?”
Not looking back…
Out-Numbered – “NOT NOW!”
MENS ROOM
I push the door open frantically. The room is dark. There is no power. I reach into my pocket for my cell phone. I rush toward the stall, the last bit of light from the open door…
Out-Numbered – “Motherfucker! Comfort INN my fucking ass!”
I turn on my phone to get some light. I shine it on the bowl. Do I have time to paper the seat? Not a chance. Fuck it. I’m going in. Skin first. I balance my phone on the handicap rail. I tear off a sheet of paper and wipe the seat recklessly with one hand, pulling my pants off with the other. I barely make it to the sitting position.
Out-Numbered – “Holy Shit. Thank you God.”
As I sit on the cold public toilet seat, in the complete darkness, I realize that I am lucky. I have cheated the Grim Reaper of Lactose Intolerance one too many times. I think back to the time, ten years ago, when I crapped my pants on the corner of Yellowstone and Jewel, standing in a crowd of people during the rush hour.
Out-Numbered – “Uhhhhh.”
I threw away my clothes that day, for two slices of Häagen-Dazs Ice Cream Cake and a Peroline Cookie. I barely made it off the subway. Hardly worth the cost. I also threw away a lot more…
Out-Numbered – “Mmmmmah.”
It’s time to acknowledge that every man has his Kryptonite. Mine just happens to be dairy products and instead of losing my super powers, I get terrible diarrhea and stomach cramps.
As I wipe my ass by the light of my cell phone, I can hear my kids running back and forth in the Hotel lobby. They are asking for me and calling out my name. This is what they must mean by hitting Rock Bottom. I can’t do this anymore. This is no way for a man to live…
Tonight, I was Out-Numbered by Mystic Pizza and Mud Chocolate Crunch Ice Cream…
There was an AP story the other day about the American Academy of Pediatrics wanting companies to start labeling hotdogs, carrots, grapes and other foods as choking hazards. Which, admittedly, they are. And sidewalks are tripping hazards, and puddles are slipping hazards, and trees are bumping-int0 hazards. The minute you decide to get up off the floor and sit on a chair (falling hazard) or couch (fire hazard) or go out the door (big, wide world-hazard) you are taking your life into your hands.
I’ve been scooped!!! TIME magazine’s August cover story “Why Exercise Won’t Make You Thin,” is exactly what I have been saying for 33 years! Yes, way back in 1976 when the aerobics-go-for-the-burn craze was starting, I was skeptical. So I tried running. I felt everything drop: my face; my uterus; and my arches! But apparently, other females didn’t agree since running morphed into killer aerobic classes and millions of females starting jumping up and down urged on by Jane Fonda’s workout tapes. (Years later she apologized for the injuries people sustained.) 
We were visiting family in Ocean City NJ. So that’s myself, my wife, and our four year old daughter and one year old son. And when you’re in Ocean City, NJ there are only two things to do. Go to the beach, and then go to the boardwalk. I don’t like the beach. It’s hot, sunny and sandy. What can I say, I’m an indoor cat. But I survived a few trips to the beach. (One dude generously let me borrow his shovel so I could actually secure the beach umbrella in 75 mph wind.) Hot yet windy. Even better. 
