That time you peed your pants.

Billy-Madison[1]

My priorities as a child were always a little askew. The consumption of candy, and playing, would usually out weigh any other task or impulse that presented itself. To me, I was committed to my passions; a noble mentality for a girl to possess. Unfortunately, this fervor for candy has only left me with the inclination to eat M&M’s for dinner, and my stubborn commitment to play, with ADD level work capabilities and with many stories of wetted pants from childhood. One of these stories in particular jumped out at me while reading the prompt.

It was 6th grade. A birthday party at a pizza restaurant was taking place, complete with copious amounts of greasy, carbohydrate fueled children, arcade games, and a huge play place. We were having the time of our lives! Drunk on cheese and cola, parents all the way in the next room! We were free and living large. After feasting on said fine Italian cuisine we set off for the play place. (This was back in the day when we actually had energy that needed to be worked off. As opposed to now, we start any physical activity at “already tired.”) Everyone was crawling around practicing their skills of becoming dictators, war lords, and sexist segregators; it was a typical boy/girl 6th grade birthday party.

I was having so much fun and of course ignoring the 16 oz. of Mountain Dew that was sloshing its way through my 75 lbs. little body. I didn’t have time for going all the way to the bathroom. What if I left to go to the bathroom, and missed something awesome or hilarious? What if the Spice Girls just happened to show up outside and I didn’t see it because I was sitting on a toilet!? I couldn’t risk not being a part of any future unknown fun, so I used my stubborn will power to hold it, and continued to play. Good for a little while and enjoying myself, I decided to go further into the play place maze and explore. I crawled around for a while and didn’t find anyone I knew there, so I decided to make my exit.

I made my way around the tubes and nets, thinking that I was nearing an exit, only to find another tunnel every time. By then the situation was getting serious. My bladder started to take more and more of my focus. Beads of sweat formed at my temples and tunnel vision while in an actual tunnel was more than I could handle. I continued in a panicked shuffle until I saw the …light…at the end of the…tunnel (way too many tongue in cheek references, I apologize.) I was safe! I just had to make it out, run to the bathroom… THE BATHROOM… and it was too late. My brain had gotten ahead of itself at the thought of the delicious porcelain throne I was about to set myself free on… and I did the Dew. Old enough to be able to conceive my own children in the next 1 or 2 years, and I was wetting my own pants. I had to cover this up somehow. There was no way I was going to survive the rest of 6th grade as a red head AND as “Piss Pants McGee.” No, I would have to pull some MacGyver level solutions on this problem. I looked around me, no other kids in site so I was safe for now. I shuffled forward hoping maybe I could air-dry before anyone saw me, but I knew I was kidding myself in light denim overalls.

Then low and behold God decided to smile upon my dire situation and in his foreknowledge, he had caused part of this play place to be built outdoors in the climate of the great Northwest. A giant rain puddle had gathered in a section of a tube near the entrance. This was my ticket. I just had to manage to get my rear in the puddle and make it look like an accident …well a more socially acceptable “accident,” while someone bared witness. I heard familiar voices approaching from a nearby tube and I knew this was go time. It was like a scene out of Rambo, I crawled on all fours, eyes on the prize, mowing over smaller children in my path. I was in position. Ready and waiting for the perfect moment to fall back into the puddle that was my redemption. Unsure if the pounding I heard was from the approaching hands and knees on plastic or my own heart…I released grip and in slow motion fell back into the puddle, amidst the voices of choirs singing and doves taking flight out of Ryan Gosling’s hands.

Plop! It had worked. Right as my shameful secret was baptized in the rain puddle three of my friends came upon me. They all thought this was hilarious and adorable since everyone had nearly had the same mishap from the puddle. I shrugged it off and laughed with them calling out my clumsy misfortune. I participated in the joking banter with dumb things like, “Oh boy I’ll get that puddle next time it tries anything!” and letting out business laughs. I couldn’t believe I had evaded this catastrophe so smoothly. I, that day, was a ninja, of whom peed pants would not claim a victory over.

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