Rowley: busting for a wee

129.In the quiet town of Rivendell, in a simple blue house on Maple Avenue, lived a rambunctious 11-year-old named Rowley. The amusing, often absurd adventures of Rowley were the talk of the school kids, but on this particular night, he embarked on an escapade he would hardly want to remember, let alone share.
Rowley, who had the extraordinary talent of sleeping like a log despite his bustling energy during the day, woke up in the middle of the night with an urgent need; he needed to wee. As he had done countless times before, Rowley rushed to the bathroom. But tonight was different. His mother blocked his path, her face as grim as a ghost, "Your dad clogged up the toilet with his shit. You can't use it, dear," she said, a washcloth clutched in one hand, a plunger in the other.
A sense of panic filled Rowley’s eyes, but an idea suddenly flashed, and he dashed to the utility room to fetch a bucket. But his troubles were far from over. The dreaded voice of his dad echoed, "That's the cleaning bucket, boy! You can't use it!" his tone drowning Rowley's joy just as it was rising.
Feeling the pressure mounting, Rowley's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Like a Eureka moment, his potty from That he pooed in earlier appeared in his mind's eye, still safely tucked away in the bathroom cupboard . With a newfound hope, he thundered up the stairs, but alas, disaster was waiting with open arms. His mother, startled by his sudden sprint, knocked the potty off his hands, and it fortuitously landed in the oven, yielding a horrid scent of melting plastic.
Rowley felt a wave of anger rush over him; it was as if the universe was conspiring against his bladder. A river of tears followed, his tantrum leaving his younger attempts way behind. Just as every nook and corner of his house seemed to shun his plea, his eyes fell on his nappies. Despite being 11, Rowley kept them as his prized possessions. But to his misfortune, his pestering father, in a fit of irrational bullying, had thrown all his nappies out.
Reaching the zenith of his desperation, Rowley unceremoniously undid his trousers and relieved himself right there on the living room floor. His dad burst into laughter until the puddle of mishap enveloped his feet. Seeing this as the last straw of their outlandish domestic antics, the neighbours alerted the police.
As the police handcuffed Rowley's dad for disturbing the peace and berated him for his immature behaviour, a sense of relief washed over Rowley. His mother was silent, cleaning up the mess and giving Rowley a bath. But the night was not over.
Rowley's dad sat on the edge of the tub as punishment, forced to tell stories to the triumphant Rowley, who splashed him with bathwater at every plot twist. Despite the extraordinary predicament, Rowley found solace in that moment. Meanwhile, the neighbours, their local law enforcement, and a wide-eyed 11-year-old learnt a valuable, albeit hilarious, lesson on handling midnight bathroom emergencies.
This was one of Rowley's misadventures, one shrouded in absurdity, outrageous creativity and an inexplicable silver lining. His escapades kept on, each one an evocative cocktail of hilarity, innocence and high creativity. And while that particular one may not have been his proudest moment, in the annals of Rivendell's many tales, it was indeed a chapter that kept Rowley's legacy alive.