The first time I found a bottle of my husband-to-be’s urine, I didn’t think too much about it. It was sealed up, on the floor of his car; a Pepsi bottle repurposed for his pee.
Sure, it was kinda gross, but I figured he had filled up the bottle on one of his routine commutes from his dad’s house a couple of hours away.
I didn’t make a big deal about it, just chucked it into the bin at the next petrol station and we went about our day. Ultimately, I chalked it up to something that some guys do just because they can.
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And then we got married.
I was ill-prepared for our new reality.
My husband worked really hard. Our marriage was short-lived, strange, and littered with issues, but his overall work ethic was never a problem in my opinion.
He went to university and worked part-time while I tried to maintain the home and figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life to become a “productive member of society.”
It’s safe to say that both my husband and I had plenty of reasons to feel stressed and circumstantially depressed. We got married because we thought we loved each other, and we had so much fun together when we were dating.
Yet our married life was a musty wet blanket which smothered all of that fun and our high hopes for the future.
Honestly, I don’t even remember when or how peeing in bottles became this big thing in our marriage. It just was.
After a while, I began to audibly groan each time I stepped into our little office. Another pee bottle? You’ve got to be kidding me. I kept finding plastic beverage bottles filled with my husband’s pee. Our bathroom was no more than five feet away from the computer, yet my spouse had begun a habit of peeing into water or soft drink bottles right there at the computer.