Three a.m. Mnummnummnum happily smacking your lips you wake up. ‘wazzit…’
Knock knock, bladder to brain: max level reached. Immediate emptying required.

Thing is, thing is, you’re in a tent.

Why are you in a tent?

Because you’re camping. It’s supposed to be fun. It ís fun, except for moments like, well, like these. Because it’s dark. It’s dark and it’s raining. And you just realized you shouldn’t have drank that last drink. And the one before.

One hour later it’s raining harder than ever and your bladder is screaming in a ditto fashion.

Thing is, you’re in a tent. And the toilet building is about 2 sleepwalking kilometres away. There’s a lot of grass next to your tent though. It would suit your needs perfectly.
But there are other people who got the fabulous idea to go camping just this very weekend. And they’re standing within hearing distance of any bladder-related sounds. And it’s getting light.

Damn you for being such a prudish shy camper with a damndamndamn overflowing bladder.

Anyway. Not long now before you’ll wet your pants, your pyjamas (a sensible camper wears pyjamas, preferably breathing, quick-dry ultra expensive fleece ones) your sleeping bag (ultra light, suitable for camping in subzero temperatures, very expensive, no sensible camper could do without) and your tent (an ultra light, ultra hip, ultra small bit of fabric in the shape of a coffin.) Ok. Let’s get out.

And you thought making the decision was the ultimate problem. Haha.

As it’s raining you can’t go out barefeet, your sleeping bag will get all muddy when you get back. If you ever get back. You reach for your shoes. You forgot that between your shoes and you there is a flap. With a zip. Which you just conveniently forgot and made a hole in.

You get your shoes. No, not your shoes, they’re too difficult to get on.

You get your flip-flops. Don’t forget that there is just enough room for one body. A still body. Not a cursing, moving one. Tents are not made for moving or cursing in.

You reach for your ultra light breathing all-weather jacket. Which is not there.
You fumble around for the jacket. Nope. Not there. The battery of your everlasting LEDdevice ran empty several hours ago. Ok, you can take the bag the tent came in and hold it over your head. Better than nothing.

Time to get out. You sit up and reach for where you think the exit flap zip is. These things are meant to creak and squeak, and yours is a particularly good one. You wake up the whole camping site. They’ll all know what YOU’re gonna do. Shush, prudish camper conscience.

Out, out, out or Lake Yellow will soon appear.
Oooh, fresh air. Fresh rain, falling down down down on meeeeee.

Stumble over someone else’s tent line. Curse, caress hurt leg while whispering sorry to grumbling fellow camper. The grass wets your feet and you almost wet yourself. Just before you do so, you find a relatively remote spot. Ok, so it is behind a caravan. By now you really don’t care anymore. Chief Cursing Bladder squats. Oooh, relief. Ooh, placed flip flop in stream of pee. Ooh, who cares. Pee, happy camper, pee! Aaaaahhh.

Without caring to get your flip flops off you dive back into your tent.
Mmmnumnumnummmission accomplished.