My guest appearance on the PGPeepcast mixed with the rare wet weather in Southern California was the perfect recipe for the topic of this entry — pissing my pants.It was a dark and stormy school day. I was in fifth grade — Mrs. Molina’s class. She usually read some story to us. I remember her reading “Homeward Bound.” On this day, I can’t recall what she was reading.I just remember that she was reading for what seemed like an eternity. Being the polite kid I was (and I think I still am as an adult), I thought I could combat nature’s calls until she was done reading. But the dark skies and the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement outside made the urge to go worse.

I tried to keep my legs close together and I shook in my chair. And then it happened.

The flood gates opened and the sounds I was hearing weren’t just from the rain outside.

I. was. mortified.

Here I was – 10 years old. Pissing in my pants. In front of about 30 other 10-year-olds. And my teacher.

The guy sitting next to me said one word “Ew” then moved away from me. Mrs. Molina tried to downplay what had happened. She said that maybe it was “water” from outside.

But the other kids weren’t stupid. Clearly water didn’t have a yellow hue.

On top of being mortified, I was also wearing my sister’s clothes that were “borrowed” (without permission, naturally) from her closet. There was no way out of this one.

For days after, my friends kept their distance. The kid sitting next to me sat at the edge of our 2-seater desk, trying to sit as far away from me as possible. After all, who wanted to sit near the “Pee Pee Girl”?

Eventually, the shame wore down and my friends became my friends again. Lucky me! 🙂

Lesson learned: There’s a limit to holding it. When you gotta go, let it flow. Just make sure you’re near a toilet, though.