When I was about six, my favourite uncle, Uncle Donny (or Uncle Donkey), took me camping. I was so, so excited for this camping trip for two reasons:
1. I LOVE camping.
2. My uncle thought I was grown-up enough to take me camping, alone, without my parents. He wanted to spend time with just me.
Because of reason number two, I promised myself that I was going to make it the best camping experience of my uncle’s life and he was forever going to want to bring me camping. I was going to be on my absolute best behaviour, not annoy him in any way, not cause any sort of problems, and overall just make him feel like he was camping with a grown-up. I did not want him to feel like he had to take care of me.
All was going well with my plan. I was confident he was having a great time and I had just made a camping buddy for life.
But on the very last night, I woke up in the middle of the night having to pee very, very badly.
I am not sure why this happened, because I sleep like a rock and I never, ever wake up having to go to the bathroom. But on this particular night, the feeling wouldn’t leave me. I really, really had to go.
I laid in my sleeping bag and thought about my options.
Option 1: Go out of the tent by myself and find a bush outside.
No. Not going to work. It was too dark and scary outside. I thought about all the creatures that were probably just waiting for me to get out of my cozy sleeping bag and out of the tent into the open so they could attack me. Spiders for sure. And probably bears. Maybe even ghosts (we had been telling ghost stories all night, so they were in my brain).
No thank you. I just couldn’t do it. Option 1 was not an option.
Option 2: Wake up my uncle and get him to take me to the bathroom.
This was a more desirable option, but it threw a wrench in my plan of being the perfect niece who could take care of herself. I wanted my uncle to bring me camping again, and I thought waking him up in the middle of the night and making him take me to the bathroom would cloud his memory of the good times we had. I wanted to be viewed as an independent adult who could take care of herself.
And I also didn’t want him to know that I was too scared to go outside of the tent by myself.
Annnnnd I was also embarrassed because he is a boy and I am a girl, and I wasn’t comfortable talking about bathroom stuff with him, as silly as that sounds.
Option 3: Hold it and go back to sleep.
Not happening. I had to go soo badly.
Option 4: Wet the bed.
Now, this might actually work. How much urine could my bladder possibly hold? I figured I could just do it quickly and go back to sleep. It wouldn’t be so bad, and by the morning it would be dry and no one would ever have to know about it.
I laid there, and I thought about it. And in the end, option 4 sounded best to me.
So I did it.
And it was sweet, sweet relief.
So the next morning, we were packing up our campsite, and my uncle noticed that my sleeping bag was wet. And he said to me
And I obviously didn’t want to say “Well, I wet the bed last night…”
I had to think of something…
So I just said the first thing that entered my brain.
I was so happy and proud of myself that I had come up with a plausible reason for why my sleeping bag would be wet. Of course it was apple juice! What else would it be?
My uncle never said anything to me about it. Not one word. But after he took me home, my mom confronted me.
Oh. I didn’t think about this.
Stupid non-existent apple juice ruining my story.
My uncle did take me camping again though. So all was not lost.