If you are reading this, you are probably feeling just about like the luckiest guy/gal in your county considering its been awhile since I've bothered to hand over one of my cherished memories. I'm sorry its been so long but you see, I've just been so busy wandering around my house in my underwear, making trips to the grocery store, checking my e-mail and other things that go along with being an unemployed directionless twenty-something in general. Anyways, I recently got in touch with a long lost childhood friend, and it reminded me of some really awesome times.
I know I've made subtle and hilarious references to my childhood bedwetting, and lets face it, sometimes the adult variety , so I thought it was about time I shared some of those heartwarming anecdotes before you all were overwhelmed and perhaps had accidents of your own.
I didn't have a whole lot of friends as a kid, but I had a few awesome ones. I was about 11 or 12, and my best friend and I got to go on this trip to Kansas to see her totally cute brother and all his teenage friends play in a music festival. We were all staying at her Grandma's house, the harem of pubescent boys stayed down in the basement and us girls slept on the couch in the main living room. Now, I'm convinced that a lot of the rather humiliating problems with bladder control that I struggled with as a child were due to my rich and diverse dreamworld.
In particular, I had a rather terrifying recurring dream in which, now don't you dare laugh, I was held captive by a gigantic pink version of the hamburger helper glove which would say all sorts of mean things like "YOU'RE SO STUPID AND UGLY LITTLE GIRL, I HATE YOU!" and tickle me until I cried and peed. Now, I know it doesn't sound hellish and utterly terrifying, but I assure you it was the most serious of night terrors. So you can imagine how poor little 12 year old me might feel after enduring hours of torturous tickling and verbal abuse only to awaken to that old familiar and most horrible of slightly warm and moist sensations. Oh yes.
So now its really hit me. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut hoping perhaps I'm still dreaming. But no. Its true.
I peed on my best friend's grandma's couch and heirloom quilt that was probably made by great aunty matilda during the civil war with nothing but a hairpin and her tattered ruined farm clothes. Now what do I do?
My friend snores quietly on, unknowing of my treachery. I get up and survey the damage. It doesn't look good. There is no hiding this. The hamburger helper glove really did a number on me this time. I shamefully tip toe to the bathroom in search of cleaning supplies. Apparently scrubbing bubbles was not intended for use on fouled 1980's furniture, and the giant spot only grew larger and bubblier. So I did what anyone would do. I flipped the cushion. Bam. Problem solved.
With my spot resolved, I knew I had another serious issue on my hands: the soiled quilt. I did a lot of walking back and forth mouthing the worlds "Oh my god, oh my god," trying to think of something. When I found the laundry room, just beyond the kitchen, I was saved. I thanked baby Jesus and started to throw it in the wash. Oh no. A load of old peoples clothes stared back at me, menacing and damp. So obviously, I did the most reasonable thing any 12 year old could, threw the quilt in the dryer, turned it on "FLUFF" and ran back to the couch to act as if nothing had happened.
The next morning I stumble sleepily into the busseling kitchen, full of pimply faced teenagers, and grandma making delicious chocolate chip pancakes. Everything appeared alright, I was home free. And then, Grandma says "Why in the world is the quilt in the dryer?" My palms started sweating, I thought my sneaky little 12 year old heart would give out.
Her kind old lady eyes fell on my guilty as sin form. I probably had the most pathetic look on my face I could muster because all she said was "OH I remember, I put it in last night" and winked.
Later on I pulled her aside and confessed, and she just gave me a cookie and told me not to worry. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Grandmas are the shit.
So be nice to grandmas, they hold many secrets!
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