I peed in a cup

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Peed in a cup this morning.

Hate bragging, but did it v-e-r-y well. No dribbling. No side spills. They handed me a wipe, just in case the exterior of the jar turned moist. It did not. I pee straight as a mofo.

Anyhow, after completing the exercise, I was instructed (via the above signage) to place my urine sample into the metal cabinet. So I opened it, and—lo and behold!—my pee has a pee neighbor. That’s me on the left, John on the right (I read the label). And it felt oddly … intimate. Like John and I now have something in common and should now be friends. I feel like we could have gone fishing later today, crack open some beers, catch some rainbow trout, talk about pissing into a jar.

“You miss at all?” I’d ask.

“Well, maybe a little,” John would reply.

“Dude, it’s OK. We all have our moments.”

“I dunno. I’m a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. It happens to …”

I see John’s shoulders slumped. He can’t talk about this.

“These fish are really biting!”

Alas, John and I are pee producers passing in the night.

There will be no fishing trip.