Our bags are checked, we managed to score an entire row on the plane courtesy of the nice man at check-in and we've got about 3 more hours left on the flight when I decide I need to use the lavatory. I put the Bourne Identity on pause, walk the few rows down to the toilet, lock my door, pop a squat and let nature go.
...and then suddenly I realize something is very very horribly wrong. Why??
Because the lid to the toilet is still down.
Which means my pee isn't going where it needs to go.
Instead, it's going on my tights, my underwear, and yes, the floor.
The next three minutes essentially consisted of me standing in a puddle of my own urine with my skivvies to my knees whispering, "whatthefuckwhatthefuckohmygodwhatdoidowhatdoido?!?!"
When I finally calmed down long enough to realize that no, this wasn't just a bad dream, that I really did just urinate all over the damn place and myself, I knew what I had to do: get rid of the pee. Once the floor was as clean as standard-issue paper towels could make them, I turned my attention to the most pressing (and uncomfortably soaked) issue: my dirty laundry. There was, however, a few tiny issues with this problem, namely that my tights were tucked into my socks...and my socks were tucked in my knee-high boots.
So yeah, I'll say it: I got butt-nekkid in an airplane lavatory... to dispose of my pee-soaked tights and undies.
Of course, this was a problem because those pee-soaked tights? There were the only things I had on and there was no way in five levels of hell or obesity that I was going to walk down back to my seat butt-nekkid either. Mercifully, that morning was freezing and I had pulled on TWO sets of tights before leaving our hotel. So while the red tights I had on were done for, the inner, black ones were thankfully spared from getting drenched in (my) piss. I then pulled a Cirque du Soleil-worthy performance in about ten square feet of lavatory space over the Atlantic ocean to pull off the offending clothing and stuff my ruined underwear in the trash. Unfortunately, I'm a little in love with my red tights and thus, figured they could be saved. After washing them in the sink however, I had another issue: it'd be painfully obvious for me to walk back to my seat with my drenched tights in hand since I clearly didn't plan on soiling the bathroom floor and didn't bother bringing a purse with me.
After stuffing the tights underneath the plane's sink, I walked back to my seat, uncomfortably and embarrassingly in commando, found one(!!!!!!) spare ziplog bag and an extra set of underwear and doubled-back to the lavatory. There, retrieved the evidence of my bathroom-crime and did yet another circus act so I wasn't pulling a Britney Spears in the plane. Once I got back to my seat, I turned to my friend, told her what had happened and she laughed her ass off till we finally landed.
What a way to end a trip.
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