I have another great horrible day story. It goes a little something like this:

I wake up. That's always one of the worst parts in these stories. I try to get ready quickly but inevitably run behind, and, also inevitably, it's a day where I have a lot to get done before a certain time. Somehow I manage to get dressed and mostly get what I need to get done done--still with me? Now here's the good part. I run to the restroom, late for class and needing to hurry across campus to the building the class is in. I'm wearing a very cute white skirt with what I would say is an attractive red and white tank-top. I'm feeling cute. I'm feeling flirty. I stand up from going to the bathroom and there is the bottom of my white skirt...in the toilet.

Oh yes, I peed on my skirt. But wait, there's more.

I run out of the bathroom, still late for class mind you, and proceed to throw the bottom of the skirt under the faucet in a desperate attempt to rinse whatever may or may not have been soaked into the skirt off. Looking around I see only bath and body works soaps and have no idea what one might use to eliminate a pee stain. Furthermore, I'm standing there with the skirt around my knees as I lift the vast majority of it under the faucet. All I can do is pray as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, effectively without bottoms on rinsing a pee stain out of my clothing. I begin to repeat over and over again, "Please no one come in, please no one come in." As a mantra, I think it's a pretty good one.

Thankfully the slightly dubious color in my white skirt rinses away quickly and I think I might have made a narrow escape when I suddenly realize, I'm wearing a white skirt. And I just got a significant part of it wet. To make things the best they could possibly be, as I have this thought a stream of water makes like the Mississippi and runs down (or up) the cloth of my skirt leaving a delightful wet trail in its wake. I now have a lot of wet white skirt. And I'm late for class.

So there I am, racing across campus to teach in my wet white skirt that may or may not have been peed on and, incidentally, still have a pee stain on it. For the first time ever I was actually glad I was in a desert because I figured any wetness would evaporate in under five minutes as I walked and maybe I wouldn't be caught teaching in a wet skirt with a tinge of yellow.

I am happy to report that it looks like I didn't actually pee on my skirt, or if I did it all rinsed away. No one in the classroom said anything, but then they're mostly college freshman and their skills of perception are, shall we say, lacking?

Speaking of which, I have another story to share.

Last evening I attended a pub quiz at a fine establishment here in the greater desert region. There are prizes for first and second place and also something for most creative team name. In general it seems that the best sexual innuendo wins, but last night our team went with Old Cancery Patrick Swayze. I really felt like this was a classic since I thought it up. Well, as I turned in one round of answers I heard the man reading the questions talking to the man scoring about team names and as he handed one answer sheet over he said, "she's kinda hot." I realized in that moment that creativity didn't have nearly so much to do with "most creative team name" as a great rack.

The team that won last night wasn't bad, but it's the principle of the situation that bothers me. I've faced a lot of gruff in my life for not looking like Pamela Anderson, but I absolutely must draw the line somewhere. I've decided to draw my line in the sand. I'm making my stand and not even a Persian army is gonna move me. You can ignore me, you can disrespect me, you can even judge me. But nobody gets to claim creativity because the judge wants to screw them. That's just un-American people. Our name it had it all: insensitivity, originality, tactlessness and it had them all without referencing sex. How many people can make such a boast? Do you know how hard it is to be tactless AND original without making a sexual joke? Trust me, that takes some doing.

But I did it gosh darn it. I was the most insensitive I could be while keeping it PG--hey, that sounds like a poem one of my students would write--and I'm not going to accept lack of recognition because the judge was looking to get busy. So screw the war, or your civil rights, or the election. Grab a marker, make a sign, and meet on the corner to protest. We're gonna take on biased pub quiz judges. Oh yeah, that's right.

I wonder if peeing on my skirt was karma for thinking up our team name? Crap!