Going off to piss. After more than an hour of walking and an additional liter of Coke, nature called me.

"Dieter, I have to piss," I said casually.

"What kind of vulgar language is that?" he scolded in response.

"Welcome to the 21st century, Dieter," I returned cheekily. "I really have to go," I said, crossing my thighs theatrically and biting my lower lip to emphasize the urgency of the matter.

Demonstratively, Dieter raised his hand. "If you keep up this expression, young man, there will be such a cuff behind your floppy ears that it will catapult you into the Middle Ages, capiche?" he threatened, unable to suppress a small smirk in spite of himself. "We'll be waiting for you at the lions."

"Yes, lions," Emma gloated. "They're about to be fed, aren't they Dad?" she exclaimed.

"Dieter, stay cool. Try petting the big cats until I get back," I replied nonchalantly.

"Get the piss out of here," he grinned.

"That's exactly what I plan to do, Dieter," I grinned back.

(...)