If it doesn't get worse, it can only get better.

If the past few months have been an extreme need to urinate during a dull conversation with my boss, childhood hero, and middle school crush at an awkward dinner party in a stranger's home, the past week has been a sneezing fit mid-stream and subsequent f-bomb with no toilet paper in a bathroom within earshot of the dining room during a lull in the dull conversation caused by my abrupt departure.  Next week will be the inevitable "Are you okay?" as I trip over the rug returning to my cold chicken piccata...I ordered the steak.