If you’ve read much of this blog, you know I’ve done some embarrassing things in my adult life (see: A simple conference call gone horribly, horribly wrong).
But this one takes the cake.
Last week I did something that will haunt me for years to come. It’s one of those things I reeeeally hope my future kids never find out about, because they’ll never let me live it down.
This embarrassing incident left me asking two questions:
- Am I even an adult right now? And..
- How do you clean the inside of leather boots?
If you’ve ever asked yourself one or both of these questions, this post is for you.
If you just enjoy reading other people’s embarrassing moments as a means to feel better about your own embarrassing moments, this post is also for you.
The most embarrassing thing I’ve done in my entire adult life
Last week, I took my first step toward getting out in the real world and networking with other real life writers by attending a “Shut up and Write” meet-up after work.
As I was leaving my office to head to the meet-up, I told one of my co-workers where I was going and that just myself and the meeting organizer will be there so it might get awkward. She jokingly said that sounds like a great start to my next blog post.
Now I know just how right she was…
The writing meet-up actually went great. It was just myself and the meet-up organizer but I still had a great time. There was only one problem – the coffee shop we met in didn’t have a public bathroom.
But for some reason, that didn’t stop me from chugging a massive 20oz tea within the first 30 minutes. I still had an hour left of this meeting and another 45 minute drive home, but was I worried? Naahhh…
Because I’m an adult. It’s not like I’m going to pee my pants or something. Worst case I’ll just have to go to the bathroom really badly by the time I get home.
Only I had to go to the bathroom really badly before the writing meet-up ended. I considered asking the meet-up organizer if I could follow her to her house to use her restroom but then I thought, “Wait, no. That’s a weird thing to ask.”
So I hopped in my car and hoped for the best.
On the way to the freeway, I passed several fast food restaurants I could have stopped at, but something about sitting in my car was making it even easier to hold my bladder so I figured I’d be able to make it home without peeing myself just like all the other nights I’ve made it home without peeing myself (which is every night, by the way – just making that clear).
Twenty Minutes from Home
Halfway down the freeway, I started wiggling around to keep my mind off my bladder. Soon my wiggling turned into dancing, which eventually transformed into violent gyrating as my panic grew along with the pressure in my bladder.
Curse that chamomile tea!
I had to go pee so bad I had to turn off my audiobook and focus all my attention on keeping my bladder sealed shut. By the time I took my exit, I had to pee so bad my body was literally sweating trying to keep it in.
Fifteen Minutes from Home
I tried singing a song to get my mind off my loaded bladder but I could never get very far without having to stop and re-assert my focus back to clenching every single muscle in my body.
It was getting so dire that I considered pulling over on the side of the road and popping a squat, but I felt I was more dignified than that. After all, I’m an adult. It’s not like I was going to pee my pants.
Three Minutes from Home
As I pulled into my small town, I considered stopping at the KFC to relieve myself but I decided against it since:
- There are rarely any available parking spots and I was worried I was going to pee my pants trying to find one. And;
- Even if I did find a spot quickly, I would have had to sprint through the parking lot, bust in the door to the KFC during peak dinnertime hour, and then mow everyone down in my way to the bathroom if I was going to have any luck keeping my pants dry.
If I could just make it three more minutes, I could save myself the embarrassment…
As soon as I passed up the KFC and turned off the main highway, I immediately regretted my decision. I pulled right behind a stupid minivan GOING 20 MILES PER HOUR. Five miles below the speed limit. As I wiggled around and used my finger to literally plug my pee hole (hey, desperate times, man), I was shouting, “GO LADY! FREAKING GOOOOO!”
They in fact did the opposite. They put their blinker on and stopped extra long in the roadway before turning just to spite me for tailing. (Side note – this experience has given me more grace for people tailing me).
Once the van was out of the way, I put the pedal to the metal in my little RAV4 in “eco mode” until I was stopped by another car going the speed limit. The audacity of these people.
30 Seconds from Home
My bladder was about to burst. For real this time. And I knew it.
Just before turning into my neighborhood, two blocks away from my house, I whipped across traffic at the last second into a city park. I didn’t even bother finding a parking spot, I just pulled up to the closest bush I could find, opened my car door, and ran as fast as I could to position myself behind it.
Am I Even an Adult Right Now?
Unfortunately, my bladder was done doing me favors and as soon as I left the seat of my car, I started peeing uncontrollably. In my work clothes. In the middle of the parking lot. In my mid-twenties.
By the time I got behind the super tall bush, I had already peed so much that I figured there was no use in pulling my pants down now, because I was going to be done peeing soon.
Only I just kept peeing.
I just peed and peed in my nice work clothes, staring existentially into the dark, vacant children’s park, listening to the cars passing just on the other side of the bush I was hiding behind.
Also, my skinny jeans were funneling all of my pee into my nice leather riding boots. My boots were filling up with my own urine and soaking my socks. And I still just kept peeing.
By the time I was done, I kid you not, the pockets were the only dry part left on my pants. My entire lower half was literally steaming with warmth in the crisp fall air. (This gives new meaning to the cover photo, eh?).
At this point I laughed out loud. I had to. It was so absurd. I’m 25 and I peed my freaking pants.
Enter question number one: “Am I even an adult right now?”
How do you clean the inside of leather boots?
After the shock of what just happened wore off, I made my way back to my car, feet sloshing around in all the urine in my boots. I sat right down on my car’s leather seats and made the thirty second drive home in silence.
Once I pulled in the garage, I turned off the car and just sat there for a second, wondering if I can recover from this. When I opened the door and my dog came to greet me, thoroughly enjoying Mommy’s new smell.
I waddled to the back deck and took off my boots and dumped all the urine out.
Enter question number two: “How do you clean the inside of leather boots?”
I took off all my clothes there in my backyard under the moonlight, my legs still steaming in the cold air.
After starting the “heavy duty” cycle of my washer, cleaning the urine off my driver’s seat, and taking a thorough shower, I texted my coworker, “You have no idea how much of a blog post tonight actually was.”
Why did I share this?
Here at Our Weird Lives, we don’t always talk about peeing our pants, but when we do, it’s because the world needs more vulnerability and laughter.
Vulnerability and laughter help people feel less alone, and if I can help one more of us weirdos feel a little less alone by telling the story about the time I was 25 and peed my pants behind a bush, my job is done.
Cover photo by averie woodard.
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