Almost.

In regards to Gingham's recent post regarding details. I have only two details that are of note from the weekend (and differ from the topic at hand of drinking and eating too much).

1. I was able to fit a pair of slippers into galoshes which made me so smitten with myself I hardly took them off. This was incredibly useful while loading/unloading from the partially submerged dock.

2. I often use the word "almost" in regards to an emotional state that has been embodied by a bodily function. i.e. "Ew, that is gross; I almost threw up in my mouth." or "OMG, that was so funny I almost peed my pants." But Friday night (the one with the pitchers during the football game, the power hour with Coors Light AND the bottle of Macallan, and Baileys and hot tub) I may have actually peed my pants. Or the bed more accurately. Hard to say. All I know is I woke up with one VERY wet pant leg (pants were disposed of on the floor) and a partially wet bed. The only other viable options are that I

a. slipped into the hot tub after putting said pants back on (totally plausible, as I vaguely recall Gingham beckoning me to assist with the cover)

OR b. fell asleep outside for an unknown amount of time whilst smoking my last cigarette of the evening, whereby one leg was sticking out past the overhang getting soaked by the glistening downpour.

Either way, the fear that I may have peed the bed is terrifying, particularly as a girl that is new to dating. This has NEVER happened before, can you imagine the shame on a sleepover night?! What does one do?! Offer to wash the sheets? Buy new ones? Holy hell I don't have time to even consider these terrible dilemmas.

Needless to say, I proclaimed to Gingham and her boy that I was never drinking with them again, which was a resolution that dissolved in approximately 15 minutes when I cracked a beer to go with my coffee. Power hour may be a different story, but only time will tell.

xox,

bedwetter