Peeing, Multi-Tasking and the Great Reward

Do you ever, you know, have to pee? But you don't? Not right away? Because you have something to do first, and if you get that done, then you can go to the bathroom. Like it's a reward? Say you're on the way to the can but you pass the kitchen enroute and see you haven't emptied the dishwasher yet, so you stop and empty the dishwasher, and then fill it with the dirty crap that was dumped in your sink by other people who don't share your reverence for multi-tasking (and were probably peeing as you stabbed yourself with the upside down fork that was lurking behind a spoon). And then, since you're there, you gather up the dirty tea towels, empty the garbage and sweep the floor. The sweeping is somewhat difficult because your legs are firmly crossed and you're thinking, geez, I gotta go to the can. But the laundry room is on the way to the bathroom so you take the tea towels with you, except you can't go into the laundry room empty-handed so you take a detour up to bedroom, strip the sheets, gather up gotchies and pick up wet towels from the upstairs bathroom. While you're there you brush your teeth, because they're kinda coffee-scuzzed (which is why you also have to pee,) and you brush whilst holding your breath, which is hard (you should try it), because you have to pee so damned bad and you think, just pee here. Right? Just go pee. But that wouldn't make any sense because you're going down to the laundry room, which has a bathroom, which is where you were headed in the first place, so you stagger cross-legged down the stairs, juggling the laundry basket and a bladder bigger than the neighbour's hot tub. Then the phone rings, so you drop the basket in the kitchen, try to answer the phone, but you can't because it's a new phone and you're a technical luddite so you accidentally hang up on your husband and then spend five minutes phoning him while he's trying to phone you and finally you say feck it, and head to the bathroom, only you have an idea about a blog post, so you drop the laundry basket in the middle of the kitchen floor and swerve to the dining room where your laptop sits and you perch on a chair with your whole body twisted in some weird pee knot and you start writing because you have to write when the muse hits. So you write, and you grit the teeth that are floating around in the back of your mouth, and finally you're done, so you RUN to the bathroom, only you see the laundry basket on the floor and ...