The other night at dinner with friends Burning Man came up and my girl J asserted she would love to go for a few days. I nodded vigorously that I would be in for that just to witness the weird humanity.
“Honey, all you need to do is not bathe for a week and roll around in the dirt to experience Burning Man.”
“So [New Boyfriend] you don’t think I know that?”
“I would give you a few hours before you’re asking to leave.”
“Dude the way to do it is a few days—three tops—at Burning Man and then at least five holed up at The Cosmopolitan in Vegas” (J and I high fived at this point. I see a road trip in my future)
Mind you my new boyfriend has never been to Burning Man but he has been to the desert during the summer so he knows an inkling of what he speaks of. But I was a little peeved at his summation of my tolerance for the great outdoors. He conveniently forgot I am the woman who was “lucky” enough to be menstruating during a chicken bus tour of Cambodia and managed all that falderal in the nastiest “bathrooms” imaginable. But this is also the woman who has camped outside on the ground exactly 3 nights of her life and isn’t hankering to do it again and thinks an RV is roughing it. But still I was a little miffed he thought I couldn’t manage three days in the desert with a bunch of dusty hippies. After all, this woman, just a week before made a pit stop in the middle of the prairie.
Dammit if he didn’t remember I jokingly pulled the “pretty pretty princess card” and asked him to drive me back to the house. My request didn’t even get a chuckle but it got “the look” instead just before I marched far from the truck and found a bush big enough to shield me from view. As if anyone else could see me. We were in the middle of the middle of the middle of nowhere. I walked well away from the truck, looked very carefully for signs of snakes, shimmied my jeans and panties to my ankles, and squatted to pee.
After I walk back to the truck and playfully admonish him for not dropping what he was doing and escorting back to the house he reveals a fascination with the mechanics of women managing outdoor potty breaks without dampening their clothing or ankles. It was time to school him on a thing or two.
“It’s tricky and sometimes goes badly. I look for a place with a slight incline and orient myself I’m facing down hill. I move my clothes and push my jeans up and out away from my body best I can, stick my butt out and go.”
“Good thing you didn’t have on your skinny jeans.”
“I would have taken the truck to the house.”
“No, you would have sat on the edge of the side of the floor board on your side of the truck.”
I looked at the side of the old rusty Dodge. I really do love that truck but the floorboard is nasty and the floorboard by the edge of the door where I step with god knows what on the bottom of my boots is nastier. I would rather take my chances in the prairie. Or commandeer the truck back to the house.
So maybe I’ll be good for two nights at Burning Man?