Yes, you read that right: TRAMP-O-LINE IN-CON-TIN-ENCE! It's just one of the many maladies that I suffer as I begin to age. My children like to jump on the neighbor's trampoline, but I need to be there to supervise them. And who can stand by a trampoline with giggling, squealing children flying through the air and not want to participate? So, on rare occasion, I hop on for some good old-fashioned airborne fun. But much to my chagrin, with every jump, there's a *leak*, *dribble*, *squirt*. I could have just emptied my bladder with every available muscle, and still some tags along for the ride.
It's sad enough that I can't jump on a trampoline without wearing a women's hygiene item, but now the problem has leaked into other areas of my life (ha ha, get it? Leaked!), such as:
Carrying the laundry up the stairs
Carrying the laundry down the stairs
Picking up a child
Sneezing and coughing
Sitting at the computer, writing on my blog. . . .oops - gotta go!