When I Think About You I Piss Myself

Do you remember that one-hit-wonder song from 1991? Except it was "When I Think About You I Touch Myself". I had a gay boy sing that to me except at the time I thought he was into me. It now makes sense that his reason for not kissing me wasn't because I had cigarette breath. It was because I didn't have a dick between my legs. Bummer. But it WAS a great song..
There are many wonderful things about having a child. Watching them grow into little unique individuals. Teaching them about life. Hearing their sweet voices say "I love you, Mommy!" when they get on the school bus...But there are plenty of things that equally suck about "crapping a pumpkin", as my Grandma Seymour used to call it. Having your gut stretched out worse than Jenna Jamison's cooch. Stretch marks which resemble a Jackson Pollock painting in random places on your body (ONE butt cheek?! Did my kids stretch my uterus backwards 'cause they got bored facing one direction?!). A vaginal cavity which looks like the Grand Canyon with pubic hair. (Note to new moms: do NOT look at your hoo-ha in the weeks following childbirth. It is gruesome and unnecessary. Plus it made me wonder, "What the fuck is it SUPPOSED to look like?!) And the inevitable decreased/lack of bladder control.
I have tinkle issues. If I sneeze vigorously, especially after a little coffee, you'd better hope I'm wearing black. If I laugh too hard because I see someone else's child spill a whole bottle of Hawaiian Punch all over their mommy's white jeans, I often do a Michael Jackson crotch grab (even with the authentic "Hee! Hee! Heeee!" sound effects like in the "Beat It" video). This is to assure that at least most of the piss eruption will be contained. If I am expected to jump in any exercise or dance class I will fake a leg cramp or old knee injury and "stretch it out". God forbid I execute the 32 required jumping jacks at hand. Hello, clean up on aisle 5!!!
And for those of you making that fart face while you do your Kegel exercises in the pick-up line at school, good for you. I think about doing them, squeeze my goodie box like I'm hugging my camel toe these damn jeans gave me again, then I'm done. Do I need to do them like an abdominal core class, with 500 reps? I need a cooch trainer. Pretty sure there aren't any of them at my gym. I had a woman in my Ballet Boot Camp (no, I'm not making that up) class today tell me that her doctor gave her this probe thingy that she was supposed to squeeze and make it move to assure her the exercises were being done properly. Maybe her doctor works at Lover's Lane because I'm pretty sure he just handed her the Rambone with bumblebee tickler nub.
I think Apple computers should come out with something to help us Problem Pissers. Hell, they come out with a new "Gotta' Have It" product every five days. Here's my pitch. The IChub. It looks like a schlong. It comes in 25 colors. It will train your tuna taco to be strong enough to hold up a dictionary, or just a potful of digested coffee if you hear a good joke. Plus you can hear the new James Blunt album straight from your crotch!! "You're beautiful! You're beautiful! You're beautiful...your poon!"