In the spirit of honesty, because i don't believe in self-improvement without it, it feels freeing to say that I have struggled almost my entire life with a few things.
1) my big mouth
2) acne
3) my insanely small bladder, or arguably my insanely small amount of control over my average sized bladder.
Fourth on this list would be my refusal to feel ashamed. I also have zero shame about having no shame so if you wanna date me and don't need to know the dirty details about any of the above, stop reading here.
Haha! Nobody wants to date me. It's my lack of shame that allows me to say that.
Welcome, reader.
Anyway, like I said, I'm a pants-peer. Peeer? Pee-er? How the fuck do I spell that? Wizzer. Wetter. It's important that I discern between a pants-wetter and a bed-wetter too. While bed-wetters struggle with the issue sometimes into adulthood, it isn't necessarily their fault. An unlucky bed-wetter may prepare for sleep with the assurance that they allowed enough leeway between their last beverage and bed-time, only to be awoken by a soggy, disappointed feeling that their own internal alarm didn't wake them soon enough. It's a skeleton for a closet somewhere deep in the darkness because those kinds of things which happen TO us are often the things other people will blame or judge us for, and so we hide them.
I on the other hand, the pants-peeing representative, make bad decisions. Let's examine:
Grade one: had to pee so badly that literally every single child at my table in class knew, but the teacher didn't. She was on a phone call and I didn't want to raise my hand and get in trouble. There was also NO way I was going down the hallway by myself without permission. Are you crazy?! I'm 5! So, after a solid 5-6 minute potty dance in my seat, I stood up and the world of story circle and flash cards knew my pink corduroy overalls would never be the same.
And they weren't.
My mother was piiiiiiissed (urine joke) . Rightly so; I had seemed capable in kindergarten. Little did anybody know that kindergarten was my weird ghost year where I was saving up pants-peeing opportunities for way later in life. Way. Later.
Grade seven: had to pee on the class ski trip. Made it back to the chalet after hilariously falling down a hill, only to tell myself I was wearing too much to bother with the bathroom. I could hold it til' later. Sure sign number one that I'm going to have an accident: I cannot, and have never been able to hold it. I left the chalet for more skiing. Peed in my snow-pants aalllllll the way down the next slope. Imagine that hour long school bus ride back.
Grade nine: during an assembly.
Grade ten, grade eleven, grade twelve: during any number of curriculum enforced 1 mile runs. Try concealing that if you have shorts on. Go. Try.
Eighteen years old: on my way to Midland, with my mother. Stretch of highway, no motherfucking exits. Insane attempt to pee in chocolate milk carton. Failure. Tears.
I have gotten better at not doing this over the years. Marginally. I don't commonly wiz with reckless abandon (if sober), and I listen to my inner voice that screams "What are you doing?! Run! Bush! Tree!" Oddly the voice never gives preferential treatment to indoor plumbing. It simply requests I not destroy my jeans. One memory will stay with me forever, and it is because of how defeated I felt on that day that the pee-pee pantaloons saga has started to taper off.
Christmas, 2009: I left work that day with the usual tingle. I had probably also consumed almost a litre of fluid; most likely diuretic, given that I work in the coffee business. Being the idiot that I am, I ignored it. Tingles don't mean nothing, son. I had shit to do. Bought a tree, as a matter of fact. Intended to bring it on 3 different forms of public transit. So ambitious was I, in all my seasonally inspired glory. So wiggly though. So wiggly with the anticipation of relieving myself and suddenly so frustrated with how cumbersome that stupid tree was. But I carried on, as most idiots would.
Approximately four medium sized blocks from my apartment it became very clear I wasn't going to make it. I was on a bus surrounded by people, still carrying that goddamn tree. I needed to make a decision, fast. Urinate in front of my neighbours on a moving vehicle, or hop off and face my situation alone in the slush. I opted for alone, with the tree. So I rang the bell, stepped down, and I began to drag the symbol of THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR behind me, the stump leaving a dirty scuff on the sidewalk blocks. And so I trudged.
I trudged and peed all the way home.
There. Now you know something about me that most decent people would keep to themselves.
Chomps
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