A brief history of my (several) urine related incidents (Part One)

(Please ignore the lack of urine related puns in this blog post. I had a tinkling notion that that wouldn’t go over well. HA HA HA oh, God, I hate myself.) 

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I am woman. Hear me roar.

I know, I know: It is almost impossible to believe that someone who has always been so put together and composed in the public eye could have ever been unappreciated. The fact of the matter, however, is that when I was in the second grade, I was not well liked.

Not only was I not well liked, I was the target of a vicious wave of silent second grade malice. Believe me when I tell you that there is NO SHUNNING like elementary school shunning. I spent many a recess hidden in the classroom in a dark corner instead of associating with my peers. While at the time, I was disheartened by all the rage coming my way, I didn’t reeeealy blame the other children for acting the way they did; my list of faults was long and varied, including neurosis and a strange obsession with documentaries. The main cause, however, was my tenancy to go to the bathroom in places that were…not the toilet.

This is my story.

I remember that it was an especially humid spring day. Despite the fact that the temperature was set to rise well into the nineties, I chose to wear a thick, woolen sweater paired with multicolored overalls. That was my favorite outfit, and I remember feeling like a glamorous starlet as I breezed into my classroom that morning. Never mind the fact that all the other girls were clothed in flowing dresses! I knew I that I looked good, and everyone else just needed to STAND. THE HECK. BACK.

Unfortunately, as the day wore on, the classroom grew hotter and more uncomfortable. I doubt my classmates noticed, as they had dressed for the weather, but with every passing second, I felt less in touch with reality. The heat clouded my mind until I felt as though I were dancing through some sort of fever dream and the blurry figures coming in and out of focus around me were just figments of my imagination. I sat in that fiery hell for hours upon hours until it was finally time for lunch. As soon as we were dismissed, I ran to the bathroom. I had been holding it for what felt like an eternity. I ran madly into a stall, my crazed eyes wide and darting about wildly.

But, Ah! WHAT BLACK MAGIC WAS THIS? My overalls refused to unhook!

What had once been my ticket into breezy self-confidence had become my prison. I had to act fast: I needed to pee NOW, one way or another.

So I made the obvious choice. Don’t judge me.

I walked back to lunch feeling as if a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. All was well until a shrill voice emanated behind me, oscillating and seemingly never ending:

“EWW! KIANA PEED HER PANTS!”

I felt all the eyes of my classmates on me, but said nothing. Finally Sally, the lunch room attendant, walked over to me. I felt apprehensive, as Sally was known to be stern and unfeeling. I gulped loudly as she approached, and pretended to be consumed with figuring out the puzzle on the back of my Go-Gurt. Still, she came closer, her shadow looming ominously over my lunch table.

“Kiana,” she asked calmly. “Did you wet your pants?”

“…Maybe.”

Ah, the joys of childhood.

Kiana.

PS. Yes, this is going to be a series. I know what you’re thinking: You don’t blog for over a month and then you give us an post about pee? I have one response: YOU’RE WELCOME.

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