The Luv Doc: Stopping to Pee

Dear Luv Doc,

Me and my wife are going to Marfa in a few weeks and I am really looking forward to the trip except for one thing. No matter how much I try to get her to "go before we leave," she always makes me stop to pee at least three times, sometimes four or five. I know this because we have been to Marfa many times, and it always takes extra time. I have made it there myself in 6½ hours but with her it's always a solid seven or more. It's usually something like Fredericksburg, then Sonora or Ozona, then Ft. Stockton or sometimes Alpine, and she always promises she won't take long but she always does. And she always ends up buying another huge bottle of water whenever we stop. It's really frustrating for me, but I don't want her peeing in my car. What do I do?

– Long Driver

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Well, for one thing, you definitely don't want to drive to Marfa with me. On most of my trips I usually have to pee by the time we get to the end of my street. Fortunately at the end of my street there is a Shell station, which gives me a decent excuse to empty my bladder while I fill up my tank – as long as I am willing to deadlift the cinder block that's attached to the bathroom key. Normally I don't patronize gas stations where the pay-at-the-pump card readers don't work and they force you to go inside in the hope that you buy a Slim Jim® ... or some Little Debbie® cakes ... or a Taiwanese cowboy hat, because ... Texas ... but in this case I put up with their 20% ethanol gasoline, dry-as-a-bone window squeegees, and their simmering-hostility customer service because, goddamn it, I have to piss like a Russian racehorse. And that, Long Driver, is a short-form encapsulation of pretty much every trip I have ever been on. It's also one of many reasons you're lucky I'm not your wife.

So yeah, on a trip to Marfa, I am stopping a dead minimum of three times – usually way more than that. I don't even like to drive on the interstate because it's harder to pull over and find visually obstructive vegetation – although sometimes you have to make do with an open car door. If I'm headed down 290 during Friday rush hour, I am delirious with pee sweats by the time I get to Buddy's Corner Store at Circle Drive (or whatever its poshly named replacement is called) and then it's on to either the Circle K/Taco Bell mashup in Drippin' or the DQ in Johnson City, and if I don't fuck around and end up day drinking at one of the 200 or so retired-oil-exec-from-Houston wineries, there's a good chance I'll make it to the Whataburger in F-Burg ... that is, unless I decide to bypass the slow-walking, blue-haired, ice cream cone-licking, overpriced antiquing clusterfuck of downtown Fredericksburg and take the Friendship loop, in which case I hold out for Waldo's in Harper, where I often guilt-purchase something because my "Where's Waldo's?" joke always falls flat. Then it's on to the 90 mph drag race of I-10.

And guess what? That's the fastest way I go. My preference is to brave the F-Burg clusterfuck and head down 87 through Mason, Menard (scary), El Dorado, and Iraan. Oh, and hot tip: The scenic overlook east of Iraan is a spectacular photo op/pee break. You just want to make sure and check which way the wind is blowing. If you're hungry, I recommend Kenny's Donuts in Iraan, which is the only donut place I've ever been that also serves sushi, Philly cheesesteaks, egg rolls, and burritos. From Kenny's I can make it to the Stripes truck stop in Ft. Stockton by the time my eyeballs are floating, and then it's another hour to Uncle's Valero in Alpine. Another 30 gets you to Marfa where, hand to god, the best place to void your bladder is the Hotel St. George. That's a five-star pisser for sure.

Anyway, about your wife: You're a lucky man. She sounds really well-hydrated. I bet her skin is smooth as a baby's butt and you ought to treat her nice and let her pee wherever and whenever she wants because she is definitely going to outlive your uptight, no-stopping-to-pee ass. That means she'll be paying for your gravestone inscription. You don't want it to say, "He was always in a hurry. He got here first."