It just happened. Just Happened. Relying on control, relying on self-respect, relying on discipline, it happened, just now.
Arrogance or foolhardiness or spite! A revolting contempt at my visible and invisible changes. An acerbic and lawless diminishing of growth’s infrastructure; a timely gallop to the washroom at age three to release an incarcerated fluid 
which had been, until age three a common, wanton and guiltless activity. But when suggestion turned to strong-arm prosecution and innocence was culled from a mystery called maturity, a cunning classification (or separation) alienated our equality. Best and Worst were ambitiously introduced as lauded and noble “Big Boys” or castigated and ignoble “Potty-Pantsed!” And from there, with the best of societal intentions at heart, the selflessness of innocence devolved to extinction.
So where does this leave me besides flooded to the ankle in Crocs filled, squishy and apt to eruption upon shifting of weight? Back to an 
innocence aged to pity? A bystander-turned-victim of life’s hit-and-run? An impossible decision to gamble with heart, lungs, gravity, and the aging breakdown of culverts installed fifty-five years ago?
I think I’ll take the highroad this time and borrow an age old question: “If a 55 year old man wets himself in the kitchen and no one’s around to see it, does it really matter?”
