{"id":128,"date":"2014-08-26T15:22:48","date_gmt":"2014-08-26T15:22:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/?p=128"},"modified":"2014-08-26T15:22:48","modified_gmt":"2014-08-26T15:22:48","slug":"a-glass-of-1968-urine-please","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/2014\/08\/26\/a-glass-of-1968-urine-please\/","title":{"rendered":"A glass of 1968 Urine, please!"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"UDU2Ny0xMjE4NDkuNDY0NjA2\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I’m not aging like a fine red wine. \u00a0No, sir. \u00a0Quite the \u00a0contrary. \u00a0My cork is compromised, and I’m smelling more like vinegar … or is it urine? \u00a0Let me explain …<\/p>\n

When I was much younger, we used to run until we vomited. \u00a0Out there in the Oregon woodlands, we opened her up for miles on end. \u00a0At the end of the course, whoever wasn’t puking their guts out didn’t try hard enough, your typical collegiate machismo. \u00a0Nowadays, I can’t reach that threshold. \u00a0My legs give out, my lungs, and just the other day it was my bladder. \u00a0 That’s right, in the humidity and heat of North Carolina, I went on a run, and was eventually faced with two options: 1) Duck into someone’s backyard and relieve myself; or 2) keep on trucking like back in the day … and relieve myself. \u00a0Option number one came with thoughts of cops and subsequent judges. \u00a0Option two came with shame and a quick load of laundry. \u00a0In the end, the decision was relatively easy. \u00a0Fortunately, there wasn’t much foot traffic, just me and my wet britches hogging the sidewalk. \u00a0Someone honked, presumably the same fine gentleman with an I-honk-for-dummies sticker affixed to his bumper. \u00a0I’d like to think that I brightened up his day. \u00a0His wife may have left him, his wallet empty, but at least he wasn’t no dumb sonofabitch with wet-assed britches running in this god-awful heat. \u00a0Or perhaps the honk was from a neighbor wishing to bid adieu, who knows. \u00a0Either way, my kids found this hilarious, dad standing there in his running shorts, a big wet spot where his dignity used to be.<\/p>\n

Ten or so years ago there would have been lies instead of confessions. \u00a0A sprinkler or a water balloon right to my manhood, blam!<\/em> \u00a0But I’m over that now. \u00a0I’m not perfect, never was, and never will be. \u00a0I’ve also peed in the pool, there I’ve said it. \u00a0Some nights I snore. \u00a0Feta cheese gives me gas. \u00a0I cry at sappy movies, and then hate myself for it afterwards. \u00a0And yes, I’ve lied about the tears. \u00a0There was something in my eye, blah blah blah, you know the drill.<\/p>\n

I blame my shame on Superman. \u00a0We watch him in the movies, admire him, want to be him. \u00a0But ultimately, we all fall short. \u00a0Each and every one of us is slower than a speeding bullet, less powerful than a locomotive, and can barely leap from bed in the morning, let alone the tallest building.<\/p>\n

And while my kids might be older, and no longer see the big S on my chest, I’m still going to throw on my cape and imagine. \u00a0So go ahead and honk for dummies, who cares. \u00a0I’ve got miles to soar, and I’m not quite there yet. \u00a0Although, you may smell me when I get there, the stink of vinegar, urine, or worse, oh my!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’m not aging like a fine red wine. \u00a0No, sir. \u00a0Quite the \u00a0contrary. \u00a0My cork is compromised, and I’m smelling more like vinegar … or is it urine? \u00a0Let me explain … When I was much younger, we used to run until we vomited. \u00a0Out there in the Oregon woodlands, we opened her up for … Continue reading A glass of 1968 Urine, please!<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8,3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-128","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-satire","category-short-stories"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/128","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=128"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/128\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":130,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/128\/revisions\/130"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=128"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=128"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jamesmdupont.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=128"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}