Once upon a time I used to be capable of sitting in a pub and downing at least four pints before I felt a need to seek out the men's room.
Whether it was the Bastion in Victoria or whateverthefuck that place on Water Street was called in Saint John, or 1001 beer joints in between, I could hold my own, and that included my own bladder control.
Nowadays, not so much.
You can go from A-OK to I GOTTA PEE RIGHT FRIGGING NOW OR I'M GONNA PISS MYSELF in about two seconds.
The "golden years" indeed!
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