My plans for this evening involve scrubbing a mattress with vinegar. Why, you ask. PATIENCE. I'M GETTING TO THAT.
The mattress is soaked in urine. Why, you ask. CALM THE FUCK DOWN. JUST KEEP READING.
Vinegar is the number one ingredient to clean a pee-soaked bed. Why, you ask. BECAUSE GOOGLE SAYS SO. LUKE USES THE FORCE AND I USE THE GOOGLE.
This is me stalling, by the way. Figuratively. Not literally, because I never made it to the stall. I made it to the mattress. Yes. It was me who peed the bed. And it wasn't the first time. Are you cringing right now? Good. Me too. I've obviously run out of things to write about, because this isn't exactly my ideal topic of conversation. But the thing is, we're not conversing. I'm here and you're there and I'm safe from seeing any sort of reaction on your end of the screen. So stay where you are and cringe in safety. It's kind of like when two lovers are geographically separated and they remind each other that they're both still looking at the same moon. Except you and I aren't lovers. And instead of a moon, there's a mattress. And instead of gazing at it, I'm peeing in it.
I've decided that the best way to go about this is on a timeline.
1990 - Natasha pees for the first time.
1992 - Natasha becomes potty-trained.
1995 - Natasha wets the bed for the first and ONLY time in her LIFE. She had a dream she was on the toilet and was suddenly awoken by a warm sensation. She jumped up and ran and told her dad. It never happened again.
1997 - Natasha stands over the toilet and tries to pee like a boy. Her sister walks in on her and asks what she is doing. Natasha tells her she is peeing like a boy. Her sister calls her weird and walks away.
2010 - The Great Pee of '97 is brought up by Natasha's sister. They reminisce for a moment.
2011 - Natasha finishes her first entire bottle of wine and wets the bed. She is so shocked that she doesn't believe she has done it. She is truly convinced that someone must have crawled in the bed with her while she was sleeping and peed on her. The event is never repeated.
2013 - Natasha's bladder returns with a vengeance. It is out to ruin her reputation, her life, and every mattress she comes in contact with. Here...is her story:
I'd like to continue to speak in the third person because it separates me from the situation, but I feel uncomfortable talking like that, so I'm stopping. The first time it happened, I awoke to find that I was lying in a pool of cool dampness. My clothes were wet, and they smelled. I got up, walked to the bathroom, stood there for a minute to contemplate the situation, and then walked back into the room. If I were by myself, it wouldn't have mattered as much. But I wasn't by myself.
"...I wet the bed."
"Haha...WAIT YOU DID."
"I thought you were joking!"
"It's the drinking. I drank too much."
"You were boasting all night about how you never puke when you drink."
"I don't puke. But...I wet the bed. Not ALL the time. It's only happened once. But this is the second time."
"Do you...want...a towel...?"
This is when I realized how weird it must have looked that I was lying there in my own piss carrying on a conversation. I blame this poor decision on the state of shock I was in.
"Uh...yeah. That's a good idea."
The incident remained a secret and was even called "cute" at one point, until it happened again. I thought it would stay between myself and the other party involved, but I was wrong.
"I heard you had a damp night," one friend said to me.
"Do you need a diaper?" another friend laughed.
"You peed AGAIN?" a friend gasped.
"I heard you peed!" said SOMEONE I DON'T EVEN KNOW.
I looked up how to stop this problem, and found the following:
1. Stop drinking so much
Well, that's out.
2. Take a pill your doctor can prescribe you for the problem.
They actually have pills for people who drink and wet the bed. Not that I do. I mean, I have, but it's not, like, "my thing." I'm not a bed-wetter. I'm occasionally unconscious. That's how we're gonna put it. Sometimes I go into a coma. Sometimes my bladder breaks. Sometimes I forget what a toilet is. I tried to make jokes about it, yelling things like, "Let's get damp tonight!" when my friends and I were all drinking. They didn't find this funny. I don't blame them.
SECRETS, SECRETS ARE NO FUN UNLESS YOU SHARE WITH EVERYONE. I've decided to disclose this embarrassing information with you in hopes that it will end the problem. So I'll share my secret, and you share your sympathy. Just don't share your bed.