When you gotta go...

Give me a full bladder and an escarpment of more than 18" and I'm happy.
Ask any guy, it's just a biological function.
I've also nurtured something of an ego around outdoor acuity, and like to think myself as aware of my surroundings as most anyone in the backcountry.

It so happened that I went for an outing at a somewhat popular place, and I ran into a babbling gaggle of sorostitutes at the top of the initial climb. I was happy to put on the afterburners and "run" away as fast as my panting lungs allowed (have I mentioned that I've become a sedentary lump lately?). And despite the heaving, it was quite easy to outdistance the sorostitutes, so I thought nothing of it when I got to the top of the trail and found a little pile of rocks with a perfect point to pee from; what more could a guy ask for?
About another 20 degrees, for one. I was running hard enough that I didn't notice, but there was frost on the rocks, and my fingers were two shades past frigid.
By the time I dug out and got a good stream going, I heard a noise on the trail.
Yup, it was the last sorostitute squeaking out a little gasp as she came into the clearing to stand open-mouthed and wild-eyed without a thought for the elemental pleasure they were interrupting.
So what does one do in this situation? Ignore them? Flee in embarrassment while a stain spreads? Tuck in and pretend nothing happened?
At least they were flushed with their bangs stuck to rivulets of sweat and silently panting, which would explain how they snuck up.
Best I could manage on--or out of, as it were--the fly: swallow my own slack-jawed and wild-eyed shock while turning around, hold up an accusatory "hold on for a minute, dammit!" finger while shaking off and zipping up, and then, wearing my meanest teacher face, walk slowly, cooly, pas them, holding just-shy of aloof and superior, feeling their eyes burn into the back of my head, wishing desperately for that 20 degrees, as far as the first bend in the trail. And then run like a three legged rabbit chased by a pack of greyhounds.

Yeah, go me.