Beet the meatle

So. Not long ago my wife and I went to a nice dinner at a friends house. You see, we're looking for the Murtzes. Ya know, a couple who will be our friends, who have kids and like to get together to engage in screwball antics. Things like camping, dinners and overall fun. Well, these lovely people made us a nice dinner and on top of it, a vegetarian one to accommodate yours truly. The strange thing is, I did something I don't normally do...
I ate beets.
A whole ton of them.
They made this beet, spinach, feta-cheese thing that just tasted real yummy. I remember thinking (as I stuffed my pie-hole) Wow! I hate beets, but there's party in my mouth and these beets are the guests of honor!

I went about my business of eating, socializing and feeling like these friends could be our Murtzes.

Now, here's where things get very odd. We got home later and at about 1 a.m. I needed to take a pee.
Yeah, nice segue, I know.
So, I'm standing there doing my business. The lights are off but I can still see enough to make sure my aim is razor sharp, when it happens.
I notice something strange in the toilet. I reach over and flick on the light only to be horrified at what appears to be the worst color ever to see in, or near the potty.
Red.
Much to my concern, I can't recall the little woman commenting on her time of the month, or showing any signs of PMS. I continue my stream (although reluctantly) and lo and behold, it's coming out red. I think of all the things a family-man of my age never wants to see in the bathroom, for example: A condom in the toilet that you had nothing to do with. Tools for cooking and shooting heroin. A book that belongs to your wife about having gender reassignment surgery and oh yeah,
fucking red.
After a moment of contemplation, I realize I'm going to the E.R. and it's going to be a long night. I walk into the bedroom and wake my wife..."Honey, I gotta go to the emergency room. I've got blood in my urine." She rolls over and says what you might expect. "Are you sure?" Now, at this moment I'm thinking it doesn't get any surer than this. "Yep." I say, thinking about all the medical people who within the next hour will be poking, prodding and juggling my undercarriage. She looks at me and says, "You seem so calm, are you OK?" It occurs to me that she's right. I start to think that it's come to this -- you get old enough and you accept the reality that something's gonna get you. I guess I was really thinking that OK, why not this? So I methodically start getting dressed and then it hits me. What did I do tonight that I never do?
I ate beets.
Beets are red.
I make a flying leap toward my computer and do a quick search. Thankfully, beet pee is a commonly misdiagnosed situation in emergency rooms everywhere.
After a long sigh, a sign of the cross and a small blood sacrifice (the first one being beet juice, so that didn't count) I thought, what a frickin' cautionary tale.
Then, I got angry.
Holy crap!
Why don't they put a warning on the can or the bunch or whatever the hell contains these little shit disturbers?
Like: Warning! This product will turn your piss redder than a pimple on the sun. Or: Guess what? You're gonna have the crimson piss scared out of you later, enjoy your beets!
I called the night nurse and she assured me that it was very common and not to worry, unless I have pain and a fever.
Well, I had neither, which was one hell of a relief.

So, we decided to put the Murtz search on hold for a while.
I've determined that finding friends is hard enough. But clear pee is the best friend a middle-aged man can ever have.