A couple weeks ago, Val had an embarrassing problem. Wet pants! Seriously. I did not remember peeing myself. How could I have wet pants? The wetness wasn't even in the area you would associate with wetting your pants. The "crouch" as Hick calls it. The wetness was never on my town pants, but only on my lair-wear, the blue sweatpants with white and gray stripes down the legs. It was sometimes around the waistband, or on the hip, or maybe over the plumber's crack area.
What in the Not-Heaven?
My lair-wear is like my lounging uniform. I put it on when I get home from town, and at night, when I go to bed (meaning 4:00 or 5:00 a.m.) I drape it on the edge of the big triangle tub in the master bathroom.
Being a curious type, I began to ruminate on what conspiracy might lead to my pants being wet. I was sitting on the toilet at the time. Some of my best inspiration comes from that location.
Let's see. When I get home from town, I take off my town clothes, sit on the toilet, and pull on my sweatpants. It's easier than standing on one leg like a flamingo. MAYBE there was still water on the tile floor from my shower drippings as I stepped from one rug to another. Perhaps I could be dragging my sweatpants across that dripped water as I readied them to insert my feet.
For a couple days, I made sure to wipe up any dripped water from the tile where I walked. But my pants were still wet when I put them on!
I knew I didn't drape my sweatpants low enough to hit the bottom of the tub. Water doesn't stay in the tub anyway. It drains completely after The Pony has his nightly bath, which is over by 9:00. And my pants don't get there until 7-8 hours later.
Wait a minute! The tub has been looking nice and shiny lately, because The Pony uses vinegar and a scrubby sponge to wipe down the sides. Hey! Maybe--
I stood up to get my sweatpants. Lifted them, and looked at that section of the tub, where there's a six-inch indented space, and a clear plastic little bar to hang a washcloth on, or use as a handle to get up.
Laying in that little shelf was the scrubby sponge, still wet. It was the kind that's yellow on the bottom, with the rough green layer on top. The same color green as the big triangle bathtub! My sweatpants had been hanging against the edge of a wet sponge!
I told The Pony, and he brayed like a mule! Then he trotted in to move the sponge over to the space at the other end of the tub.