#bathroomquest

The dream began with an unsettling jolt. I found myself in a sprawling, three-story house, a hub of vibrant, boisterous activity. Everyone was Black, and a strange, almost primal feeling washed over me. I'd just discovered I was part of this family, this culture, and I was eager to belong. I dove headfirst into the scene, mimicking slang, even using the most taboo words, desperate to prove my connection.

But my enthusiasm was met with cold rejection. 'Nigga, you ain't family,' they'd sneer, their voices laced with mockery and menace. 'Get the fuck outta here.' I was incredulous. 'I am your family!' I insisted, my voice rising. But their threats escalated, a chilling promise of violence.

'If you're gonna threaten me,' I retorted, a surge of adrenaline coursing through me, 'then I'll threaten you right back. You are my family!' I brandished a gun, a desperate attempt to assert control. They drew their own weapons, their eyes filled with contempt. 'This fool's crazy,' one of them muttered. I pulled the trigger, but instead of a bang, a pathetic squirt of water erupted from the barrel. The room exploded with laughter, a wave of ridicule washing over me.

Then, a sudden, surreal shift. The laughter dissolved into tears, the hostility into embraces. 'You really are family,' they sobbed, their voices thick with emotion. The relief was overwhelming.

The emotional rollercoaster hadn't ended however, I now had the urgent need to use the restroom. 'Can a brother use the restroom?' I asked, the urgency in my voice undeniable. I began my quest. The first floor was a maze of occupied stalls, the second floor no better. Finally, on the third floor, I found it: a sanctuary. The bathroom was magnificent, a haven of pristine elegance. Gleaming tiles, shimmering silk curtains, and a spotless porcelain toilet beckoned. Relief washed over me.

With a sigh of pure bliss, I unzipped my pants, closed my eyes, and let loose. It was the most glorious, cathartic pee of my life.

Then, the abrupt, jarring awakening. My heart pounded, my body trembling. I was soaked. I had peed the bed. A wave of panic washed over me. 'Fuck!' I yelled, ripping the sheets off the bed, my dogs staring at me with bewildered expressions. I frantically unzipped the mattress cover, praying the urine hadn't seeped through. Luckily, the cover had done its job.

I stripped the bed, tossing the wet sheets and blankets into the washing machine. I stood there, shivering, my red t-shirt and underwear soaked, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief swirling within me. I jumped into the shower, the hot water a small comfort. Then, I made the calls: first to my wife, then to my best friend at work, confessing my humiliating mishap. It was around 9:00 AM, a jarring start to my day off, considering I work the night shift. So, instead of returning to a peaceful sleep, I spent the rest of the day on the couch, the lingering image of that magnificent bathroom a cruel reminder of my watery demise.