It starts off like a terrible joke that you would overhear at an overpriced networking event. There were two lawyers, an accountant and a CEO on a golf course. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, I was that CEO and this story is entirely true.

It was a sunny day in June 2002 and I was golfing as part of a fourgy at Prince Edward Island’s premier golf course. The three other members of the party were my esteemed lawyer, a client who was also a lawyer, and my client’s accountant. We stopped into the club house for sandwiches and juice at the midway point, my client graciously picked up the tab.

The back nine was starting to become congested and at each tee we had a 5-15 minute wait. During these times the others in the party decided to wade into the deep grass of the woods to relieve themselves of the water and apple juice they had downed earlier. A minute or two into the wait on the sixteenth tee my bladder decided that it was my turn to take the wade of shame. Off into the woods I went. As I opened the fly on my shorts the shaft of the button sheered off and the flat part of the button flew into the knee high grass. As the button was surely lost I admired my zipper and continued on with my now twenty three year old routine. Upon finishing I pulled the zipper northward only to discover that the button is apparently the keystone of one’s shorts (or pants for that matter). The zipper traveled up its rails and shot off into the knee high grass to be with its long lost friend. As I was belt and suspender free that day the zipper had been my last hope.

As reality set in I began to laugh. I laughed so hard I cried. I also laughed so hard that I forgot to hold in those unavoidable last few drops, creating large wet circles on the thighs of my shorts. With nothing else to do I turned and waded out of the woods back to the tee. I emerged from the woods, tears streaming down my face and my hands holding up my now obviously pee-stained shorts. As I choked out the events to my baffled and shocked golf partners they began to laugh, actually whoop may be the more appropriate term. We whooped so hard that the course marshal, the golfing 5-0, stopped to ask us to quiet down. Upon hearing and seeing the story he joined in the chorus of whooping. The helpful marshal then searched his cart for something I could use to keep my shorts relatively where they needed to be. He returned with a bright red, low gauge wire.

So with my fly open to the ocean breeze and a wire adequate to connect a small town to the power grid holding my shorts up I made par on two of the last three holes. The client is still one of our best although I haven’t seen his accountant since.

We all have stories like this.......don't we?