Best. Valentine’s Day Promotion. EVER.

February 10, 2009 by missheather
Filed under: Area 51

A couple months ago we had a BIG problem at Chez Shitty. After arriving home from a night of birthday celebrating and bowling we discovered a bed soaked in piss. Of the feline variety. This was hardly conducive to a good night’s sleep but proved to be a source of considerable and much heated debate at the time.

Theories abound as to how this came to pass. Here is mine: ever since Tortilla left us his brother Artemis has taken up the cause of picking on my cat Frances. To use parlance borrowed from my buddy Brian (over at Heeb Magazine) Artemis takes great delight presiding over the cat box in our bedroom like “a Sudanese warlord”. But unlike Sudanese warlords, Artie (as I call him, because being saddled with a female name is probably one of the sources of his churlishness) is not interested in starving Frances or raping her. Rather, he wants to bar access to her cat box. Her solution to this problem is to hold it as long as she can until she can’t. That’s when our bed gets a golden shower the likes of which render our sheets, bedspread and mattress pad unfit for human habitation.

I consider myself to be a principled person. Among the stringent (if contextually flexible) moral code I live by is this statute: I will sleep in no one else’s piss but my own. This has yet to happen, but you know how the Boy Scouts motto goes: be prepared. Unlike myself Mr. Heather was a Boy Scout and to this end he saw fit to purchase what I call a “pee pad”. Not just any pee pad but one with space age technology. A 21st century commodity to redress age-old incontinence.

This item came from none other than the Bedwetting Store. And I was charged with the task of staying home so as sign for the package. Lucky me. Initially I found this to be a bit distressing. Would you want your neighbors to see a parcel addressed to you with “THE BEDWETTING STORE” on the return address.

Long story made short: it didn’t. This is a shame as I was coming around to the idea that being a client of the Bedwetting Store might give me some much-needed street cred. Inasmuch as my more youthful (READ: cool) female brethren here have taken to dressing like Frankenhooker or spinsters my inner cool spotter told me incontinence, surgical stockings and orthopedic shoes may very become the new “cowboy boots with sundress” soon enough. But alas the brains behind the Bedwetting Store were discreet and listed Uresis Associates LLC (or something to that effect) on the package. Damn.

Nonetheless Mr. Heather* has been on their mailing list ever since. Which brings me (finally) to the subject of this post.

Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day” like pee-resistent bedding, underwear with electronic piss detectors, shit stain removers or other uresis related “accessories“. Like most deeds most dirty, the perversion lies not in the contents of one’s pants but in the most sordid recesses of one’s own imagination (and fucked up childhood).

If the above is your idea of a good time (and you know who you are) get thee over to the Bedwetting Store. STAT.

Miss Heather

*Who has yet to provide feedback regarding his purchase via their Amazon store— for reasons I suspect many of you can well imagine. I’ll probably end up ghost-writing the review for him.