If you Pee there I will Seriously Kill You

You'd think this story would be about Juni the Toddler. Not so much.

Jasen likes his beer. Every night, he likes his beer. He's definitely a self-described functioning alcoholic. He uses it to relax; take away the stress. I used to argue with him about it, but have since accepted the drinking.

My husband used to drink brown liquor like it was Kool Aid. The night we got engaged, that all stopped. When I have more time, I'll tell that story. But for now, here is one from New Years a few years back.

After our engagement night disaster, Jasen asks me if he can have a few brown liquor drinks every now and then. This particular night, we were at a New Year's party with my dad and his wife, and a very large man with a very large tolerance for all things alcoholic.

Apparently, Jasen and the large man started talking, and of course drinking. Let me make something perfectly clear: Jasen can hold his liquor. In his drinking heyday, I'm sure he could keep pace with the best of them. But after a few years of a beer-only diet, his body doesn't handle the rough stuff like it used to.

We had a great time at the party, and Jasen never showed his evil side that only comes out after a night with Jim Beam. Once we got home I put on the t.v. and Jasen passed out on the couch.

Or so I thought.

Twenty minutes later, Jasen rises. His skin was that pale, green, clammy color people get when they're drop-down drunk or coming down with the flu. Apparently his bladder woke him up. He told me he had to pee.

Since he said he had to pee, I thought it odd that he didn't take his post on our front porch, as was custom before we had Juni. And yes, I feel bad for our neighbors when he reverts to his old ways and whips it out without warning. But I digress.

It was odd, because instead of passing through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, he stopped at the refrigerator first. Did he really need a snack for the bathroom? Nope. He opened the bottom veggie drawer, and I heard his zipper.

What the hell are you doing? That is NOT a bathroom. That's the refrigerator you jackass! If you pee there, I will seriously kill you...

Jasen stumbled around, and shut the refrigerator door. And then I heard it. That sound of pee hitting something that obviously was not the toilet. It was the outside of our $200 stainless steel trashcan we'd bought the week before. The trashcan he insisted we needed. The trashcan that was now covered in Jim Beam-laden urine.

And there was my husband, in all his redneck glory, jeans around his ankles, eyes glossy and completely unconscious to the world around him. He slept on the couch that night, and was not at all pleased about the mess all over the kitchen. He had no recollection.

He also spent the next hour apologizing for defacing our kitchen, and cleaning his prized trash can.