I felt that my bladder was about to explode even as I was getting up from my table at the Bulldog Pub, where I had a glass of beer. “Should I pee here,” I wondered, “or should I wait until I get home?” I decided to pee at home, which is not all that far. On my way there, I remembered that my beloved needed some beer, which she drinks in the evening before she goes to bed. It makes her fall asleep faster, she claims. I went to the nearest shop, but could not find the beer to her liking. “Should I leave before I pee myself up,” I wondered, “or should I go home in time?” I waited for someone to help me, and I got to the  cashier’s a while later. A man ahead of me did not have enough cash on him, and so he decided to pay with a credit card, which he fumbled for. “Should I leave at once,” I wondered, “or should I wait?” I stayed, paid for the beer, and left in a hurry. I felt it coming as I was walking up the stairs to my beloved’s apartment. It was only a few drops, though. Flustered, I unlocked the door as fast as I could, and rushed to the toilet without further ado. The pee burst out just as I was pulling my pants down. “Fucking beer,” I grumbled as I was looking for a fresh pair of underpants, “I should have peed in the Bulldog Pub, instead!”