15 Oct The One Where Chloe Peed Her Pants
Chloe and I had just finished our first pitcher of sangria.
I’m not much of a sangria girl. At home, when I have had it, it’s always too sweet, and the first sip warns you of the headache that is sure to come. But in Portugal, the sangria tasted so good. Too good. Definitely too good, because we couldn’t stop drinking it.
We had ordered the sangria because it was cheap (remember, we are thrifty) – and why not? It sounded summery and full of sunshine, and that is exactly how we were feeling.
Knowing we had dinner plans at 6:30, we had a few hours to kill. Our first day in Lisbon was spent planning for our next travels (because you always have to squeeze that in), workouts, and wandering around the city that we would call home for the next week.
On our way home we stumbled across a cute outside bar that was basically begging us to stop and have a drink. We couldn’t say no.
A pitcher of sangria is a lot. Especially when you factor in the fact that we truly hadn’t had much to eat that day, and it was around 4 pm. We walked back towards our Airbnb to meet up with Michele and Pius, giggling and eating custard tarts along the way.
Michele and Pius were sitting at home, drinking a bottle of wine. Perfect. They were on our level.
We were all ready for a night out on the town. Without researching where to eat (which is unlike us), we decided to walk down to the Baixa area, which comes alive at night with restaurants covering the sidewalks and streets.
We made a pit stop at a cute little bar, ordering cheese, bread, and a bottle of wine (typical). After finishing our appetizers, we walked a few more blocks down the street, deciding to sit at a spot outside.
The restaurant sprawled up a slope, and we chose the one open table. We felt like we all got an ab workout by just working to sit upright on our 60 degree slope (the next day when we walked past the restaurant again, we could not believe how steep the slant was).
Of course Chloe and I insisted on another pitcher of sangria, and by this point we were all being a little ridiculous. We each ordered our own plate, digging in to the delicious meal set in front of us. Fado music was playing in the background, and we were all handed roses (except Pius, sorry Pius).
Our waitress brought us another pitcher of sangria on the house, as well as free shots (of something – we can’t remember what).
It was a Sunday night and we were all feeling aaaallllrrrrriiiiiiiight. No matter how hard we tried to convince Michele and Pius to continue the night out with us, they turned us down. And for some reason, they didn’t want to finish the second pitcher – so we had to do it. I mean, someone had to – and Chloe and I were up to the challenge.
After dinner, we parted ways and walked down the cobbled streets with no direction and no idea where to go, with ideas of more sangria on our minds. As if we really needed more.
“How much cash do you have?” Chloe asked me, half a block away from the restaurant we just ate at. To be honest, I’m not sure how we even got that far from the restaurant.
“None,” I said.
“How are we supposed to drink more?!” Chloe asked me.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
And Chloe started laughing. Hard. So I started laughing. Hard. Here we are, standing in the middle of the street, we can’, when Chloe says, “Markie, oh, no. Oh, no.” I turn and look at her, giggling. She scoots back behind me, up the corner of the street where it’s a little darker.
“I’m peeing my pants!” Chloe exclaimed.
“Actually, I’m not wearing underwear…” She informs me. “It’s running down my legs onto my shoes!”
I’m leaning against a brick wall on the corner, laughing so hard I’m crying. Chloe is on the other side of the brick wall, which was on a slant, so she was standing slightly taller than me. She’s wearing a black dress with her Chaco sandals, which are now apparently covered in pee.
“We have to go home!” She tells me, laughing. Now I’m on the verge of peeing MY pants.
Tears are running down my face as we turn around and start to make the ten minute trek back to our Airbnb. I couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard. Not only was the fact that Chloe peed her pants (er, dress) without underwear on was funny, the way she was handling the whole situation was hilarious – it was just a matter of fact for her. Calm, cool, and collected with shoes that needed to be sprayed off.
We arrived back at the Airbnb, giggling as we swung the door open.
“We didn’t expect you girls back so early.” Michele and Pius called to us.
“You guys, I peed my pants! And I’m not wearing any underwear. I need to do laundry. I need to take a shower!” Chloe calls back to them as I laugh behind her.
“Chloe Quinn!”Michele exclaims.
“You aren’t an adult if you’ve never peed your pants,” Chloe very seriously informed us.
And that is the story of how Chloe peed her pants. I guess a dangerous mix of sangria, wine, alcohol, and a conversation about money (?) will do that to you.