ammogirl

You guys love the version of me that has no shame with humiliating moments I should really keep to myself, don’t you?

So, my parents had these friends that were basically like my second family. It was one of things where like, if I was sick at school, and I couldn’t get in touch with my mom, I immediately would call Cindy, who wouldn’t think twice about coming to get me. I stayed over a lot of weekends, because they had a daughter my age, and we would sit around while the parents played cards and drank and smoked and then…drove home? (Wait…what? Mom, you guys have a LOT to answer to!) And I would be left behind, obviously to prevent being killed in a horrible drunk-driving accident. In the morning, or sometime that weekend, I would walk home.

Well, one night, I had gone to sleep on the couch, for whatever reason. I woke up early the next morning to the sun coming through the windows. Nobody else was up yet, and all I could hear was the birds outside as I lay there, slowly gathering my wits around me. And then I realized that I was wet. Very wet. When I very slowly and carefully slid my hand under the blanket and felt around, it seemed to me that that wet was concentrated in one spot. A big spot, really, but still, sort of centralized. And it was warm. And when I jumped up, the entire middle third of my body, fromhip bones to mid-thigh, was soaked.

I had peed their COUCH.

What do I do? What do I do? I stood there in a growing panic, crying because I was at least 10 years old, at least, and 10 year olds do not pee their pants, OR OTHER PEOPLE’S COUCHES. I walked towards the master bedroom but turned around after a couple of steps; I could imagine the response I was going to get. After a few hand-wringing moments, I went to the bathroom and grabbed toilet paper and tried to soak it up. You can imagine the futility of that.

There was only one thing to do. One way out of this horrifying turn of events, one way to save myself.

I turned the couch cushion over and ran home.

Oh my god, you guys. Can you even BELIEVE that? I am so terrorized by that memory, at how horrible it and my actions were. I mean, it’s funny, until you realize I peed on someone’s couch and then hid it, leaving it to rot. Obviously, I never did anything like that again, and if I am ever in your house, you can rest easy that your couch is safe from my bladder.

I never told anyone about my “accident”. And nobody ever said anything, either…that couch was never used much, in an area only used as a gateway to the garage. Every time I walked past it after that I would inhale deeply, but I never smelled anything. I got off scott-free, really. And then, when I was 18, I moved into my first apartment. As is normally the case, all my furniture was hand-me-down, from various people.

You might think you have an idea where this is going. You aren’t wrong.

As my dad was nudging my “new” couch into place, all I could do was laugh to myself. I had marked it; it was mine. The pee couch? Was finally home.

Tschuss!!