I decided to go for an evening stroll (as is my occasional want). I walked about three blocks (which doesn’t take as long as you’d think) when I felt it. I’d peed my pants again (as is my occasional habit). With a heavy sigh I turned to go back the way I’d come.

Step. Shift. Step, step. Squirm. (That’s what I was doing.)

“Marcus,” a concerned voice called from somewhere to my right (but could’ve been my left, you know me and directions). I didn’t look, just kept walking. The voice kept talking, “Marcus, are you lost again, sweetie?”

Step, step. Shift. Step, step, step. Hike. (I was trying to go faster.)

“Oh my stars and…” the voice continued (not nearly as far away as I’d hoped I was putting it with my hurried shuffling), “You done wet yo’self again. Mabelle’s not goin’ be happy wit you.”

Step, step. Pray. Step, step. Tug. (Walking with wet pants is not fun, warm at first, but not fun.)

“Marcus! Oh, you old coot, don’t make me chase you.” Sigh. Retirement is not what I’d hoped.