Today’s post is brought to you by @MarthaGallagher
Like many children of the 90s, I was eagerly signed up for Brownies by my parents. I didn’t mind attending the weekly troop meetings, and actually really enjoyed the experience. Camping, cooking and competing with the other girls to have the most badges (just so you know, I totally did) – it was all right up my alley. So, needless to say, I was pretty excited when our troop announced they were hosting our annual sleepover. There were so many fun times to have: hide and seek in an empty school, crafts, ghost stories, and ample opportunity to stuff ourselves with pizza and pop.
On the day of the sleepover my parents dropped me off at the school with a knapsack, sleeping bag and starry eyed visions of the best night ever. The evening went along as planned, with an abundance of fun times and squealing girls. As we got closer to bedtime the leaders let us know what the ground rules for the night would be. We had to stay in our sleeping bags, and couldn’t leave the gym. All of these rules seemed fair, and with that we went to bed.
Everything was going well until about 2AM when I groggily realized I had to pee. The only issue was the bathroom was outside of the gym, precisely where they told us not to go. In my mind I envisioned alarms sounding and lights flashing as soon as I opened the door to the bathroom. I expected the police to burst in and put me in jail for being a delinquent who obviously could not follow rules. I laid in agony for what surely felt like a lifetime for my seven year old bladder. Finally I couldn’t wait any longer.
That’s right. Surrounded by a group of my sleeping peers I wet myself. Luckily no one noticed. I was able to change into dry clothes and lie in silent mortification for the rest of the night. Perhaps the most traumatic part of all was that I ruined the book I was reading. To this day I still don’t know how “The Haunting – The House of Cherry Street” even ended.
I couldn’t have been more relieved the next morning when my parents showed up to take me home. Naturally I was in a rush to escape my pee-soaked prison, so if I would have had my way we would have thrown everything in a garbage bag and escaped post haste. Of course my mom wouldn’t do that. Everything had to be packed up in an orderly fashion. As she bent down to pick up my sleeping bag, she noticed it was damp.
“Why’s your sleeping bag all wet?” she innocently asked.
“We’ll talk about it in the car, Mom”
I never advanced to girl guides.