Tinkle, tinkle from afar

My daughter's physical therapist came to the house for our session today, and of course, I didn't get home early to tidy up before the visit. After I told him that he had apparently been demoted to a person for whom I no longer tidied up, given the frequency of his visits, I gave him the baby and asked him to head downstairs to the family room while I made a bathroom stop. About halfway through what might have been a nice peaceful pee, I remembered that the baby monitor for Hannah's bed is just outside the bathroom door, and everything done in the bathroom can be heard quite clearly in the family room through the monitor. Now, at this point in our lives we just don't have a lot of visitors, or privacy, and certainly not in the bowels of the house, where the receiver is set to loud so we can hear the chirping baby when we spend our few hours downstairs of an evening. I decided it was better to just own up and so I came downstairs and said I was sorry about the oversharing. Mike kindly said he turned the receiver down. He also told me that he would never notice what was found under the sofa cushions should we disassemble my furniture for physical therapy purposes. My mind went towards what I thought we'd find here: popcorn, cheerios, used Kleenex, and small toys. He thought back to finding a crack pipe, and how he and the patient's mom just pretended it hadn't happened. Then I was full of smugness at my virtue in not having any drug paraphernalia and confessing my baby monitor FAIL. Roll of thunder, hear my pee. I'm sayin' it loud! I pee and I'm proud! And, he knows I wash my hands. Don't I just rock? Don't I?