I was probably nine years old. It was the end of another long-break from school and mom was coming to pick me up from gramma. A craft sale was being organized in the church basement and they arranged for us to meet there.

I was excited to see all the crafts and happy mom could spend some time with gramma. While they were talking I went to look around. I was wearing my favorite one-piece outfit- a purple and blue striped short-sleeve and short pants cotton number with buttons on the center going down from the collar.

I started going up and down the displays looking at all the crafts. I noticed I had to pee, but I decided I could hold it. For some reason I got stuck in my head that I needed to look at all the crafts before I could go to the bathroom. Why? I have no idea. Occasionally I’ll have these drives to “complete” things: watch all my movies, read all my books, wear all my socks. But that night it was: look at all the crafts before going to the bathroom.

So there I went- table to table, gazing painstakingly at each little work of art, feeling my bladder get fuller and fuller. I realized that this was stupid; there’s no way I can make it. I ran-waddled as fast as I could to the girl’s room and began struggling to free my lower body from my favorite (now worst enemy) one-piece. I lost control less than a foot away from the toilet.

Even as a small child I rarely had accidents, so this was very new to me. I was embarrassed, but not super embarrassed. I thought, ‘Accidents happen. I’m a little kid this isn’t going to be that big of a deal.’

I wish I had gone to gramma. If I’d shown gramma what happened she probably would’ve found some donation cloths right there in the church, or she would’ve insisted I go back to her house to change.

But I didn’t tell gramma. I decided Mom would fix this. When I told her what happened she almost couldn’t contain her joy. She was visibly snickering at me, and doing a poor job of using her hand to hide her mouth. Even then I wasn’t that embarrassed, ‘Yeah it is a little funny, I guess. She’s allowed to snicker a little.’ I thought. But I was growing more self-conscious and the heat was leaving so now I was getting cold and dealing with the smell and discomfort. “Can we go back to gramma’s so I can change clothes?” I asked.

I was never good with directions until I started driving. So it was years before I realized I was lied to. My mom told me that we couldn’t go back to gramma’s because it was too far out of the way. I didn’t know then but we had to drive past gramma’s house to get to the interstate. At most a trip for fresh cloths would’ve amounted to an extra 15 minutes.

My mother made me sit in soiled clothing for over 2 hours.

I realized soon after she said that we couldn’t stop that this went way beyond what’s appropriate for finding humor in the situation. The entire length of the trip she would not stop looking over at me with her hand over her mouth, snickering. She even pulled out her cell phone to call her husband (Sinatra) and laughed with him right in front of me.

My whole life up unto that point I had never been as miserable as I was during those 2 hours. I sat, rigid, my eyes wide and barely blinking, my mouth set in a grimace. I thought she might see the damage she was doing and stop, but she never did. In fact, as soon as we pulled into the driveway Sinatra practically leaped out of the house to laugh at me. I mall-walked past him (I think he knew I was hurt bc he looked apologetic).

I really have to wonder what kind of person would force someone, reeking of urine, to sit in a confined space less than two feet away from them for over two hours?