It is quiet in the backseat where Sheba, 41; Joanna, 31; Trish, 26, and Stella, 37, are. Suddenly...

Trish: Stop stop!

[I almost ram into the Progres ahead of me as I slam the brakes and try to get off the Northern bypass.]

Joanna: Did you drop something?

Trish: I have to pee.

Stella: Come on; you leave proper toilets in the mall and now you want to show us stuff here?

Trish: I know I should have gone to the toilet at the cinema, but the movie was too interesting. I will pee right behind the car when you stop.

Joanna: [Bewildered] What about traffic? Their lights are on!

Trish: Aaah; I am sure they cannot identify me just from the roundness of my butt. I am dying!

Sheba: I can't believe you are that kind of woman.

Trish: Please, do not judge me. I do not see you throwing tantrums when men pee by the road.

Joanna: They are men. We don't see their entire buttocks when they pee.

Trish: I do not care what you say. Stop, Pascal, or I pee in the car.

[I find a layoff and park and Trish scrambles out of the car.]

Trish: [Grumbling]To hell with being a lady, nature is calling!

Sheba: I can't wait to see you disentangle yourself from all that paraphernalia before you squat to seal your business.

Trish: Hee, these high heels and leather leggings distinguish me from a villager. They will know it was a crisis in my case.

Stella: Sweetheart, good manners do not know who is rich or poor or well-groomed.

Trish: [I turn away as I hear fabric and zippers rustling] No. It is nature that doesn't know who is rich or poor or well-groomed... Sorry Pascal!

A car with full lights on, pulls up. I glance at Trish in panic, but I am met with an unforgettable image; Trish, squatting with her dress pulled over her head to hide her identity. Her pert derriere is in the full glare of what turns out to be a police patrol pickup, with inquisitive policemen disembarking. Her giggling friends actually think this is funny.