Ain’t it beautiful? God, the pee in the toilet is the perfect shade of gold. Only fitting for a princess.
I bet you’re wondering how all of that managed to get in there. Well, let me tell you! I did a little thang called a pub crawl in London the other night, and well…I went a little H.A.M. on the strawberry lime and wildberry ciders if you know what I mean. God, that shit is delicious. I seriously wish my parents gave me that stuff instead of juicy juice as a child. I mean, hell, a tipsy four-year-old is so much better than one that cries and annoys the shit of you all the time. But that’s not the point. So anyway, I had liiike 4 pints of this delicious goodness, and needless to say, I seriously had to pee. But, unfortunately, this pub with the lovely cider had NO BATHROOM. Can you believe they expect drunk people to not have to pee every 2.5 seconds? I know, total blasphemy. So, here I went, sitting in this pub, itching for more cider, but seriously needing a toilet. The cider wish did not come true, though, as the pub closed at 11:30 (London is weak), so I started the trek home, squirming and stumbling every step of the way. I even leaked a bit on the tube. Didn’t want to know that? OH WELL! Hope those plush seats didn’t absorb the wetness…that would suck for the poor chap who sat there next. But anyway, once I managed to stagger my way out of the underground and into my flat, I then had to climb seven floors in the elevator, where I jumped up and down in agony for what felt like nine years. As soon as that fucker got to my floor, I ran out, did an “I have to pee like a damn race horse” dance as I opened my flat, and ran into the bathroom. Unfortunately, some urine droppings scattered onto my panties and the floor as I couldn’t get my arse on the toilet seat in time, but like a true princess, I always do my best to aim my urine into its proper place, an effort resulting in most of it ending up within the porcelain confines of le toilet. BRAVO, PRINCESS. BRAVO.