Potty break at 1 a.m.

Shelley and I are both light sleepers. Shelley and I are both considerate people. Therefore we both have dilemmas when the other is sleeping. The morning after my first night in her lovely home, Shelley took her blender into the living room to make her morning health shake thing so she wouldn't wake me up. I imagine her crouched in a corner over the blender with beads of sweat dripping down her face as she creates a buffer with her body in a desperate attempt to muffle the noise. She's so thoughtful. Last night it was my turn. Sometime after midnight or 1 a.m. -- I'm not sure of the time because I was in a sleep daze -- I crawled out of bed and gingerly made my way to the bathroom. The bathroom is located right next to Shelley's room. To get there I have to cross an expansive floor of creaky wood and open a squeaky door. It's enough to give me palpitations because it reminds me of my childhood. I grew up in the house my father lived in as a child. That's a nice way of saying it was an old house. We lived in the middle of the country with creaky wood floors and squeaky doors. My room was located across from my dad and stepmother's room, and the bathroom was down the hall. So I learned to creep down the hall with my body as close to the wall as possible. This somehow reduced the noise. I tried that last night, but I'm not as small as I used to be, and Shelley's floors are just so damn creaky. I had another tactic when I was a child. I would pee in a cup I hid under my bed, and sneak into the bathroom that morning to dump it out. I know it's gross; I was a kid. I have no plans to revive that tactic. It's gross, and I'm an adult.