The Time I Peed Myself In Front Of My Date


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The Time I Peed Myself In Front Of My Date

As you can probably tell by the title, which I’m assuming you all read, this isn’t a story that requires much of an explanation, although it does, perhaps, bring into question both my age and eligibility to even attend college, much less be in a sorority. Please allow me to assure you that I am, in fact, 20 years old, and that this is the only time I have had a bladder-related incident since I was four. As for my eligibility to be in college, well, I too question that on a daily basis when faced with such crucial dilemmas as how to tell whether my milk is really expired, and whether I should wash my dishes or just buy disposable ones to save time.

Anyway, back to my story. This was my first invite ever, and I had asked a boy we’ll call Jimmy from class who I had been crushing on since the beginning of the year. He was tall, muscular, and blonde, with warm brown eyes and a great smile. We flirted a lot in class, and I was pretty sure he was into me too, so needless to say I was pretty excited to spend an evening (and hopefully a night) with him. I dieted and exercised for two weeks prior to invite, and when the day finally came I took extra care doing my makeup, spent hours doing my hair, and wore a tight grey dress that hugged every curve of my body. I looked and felt great, and my night started off really well.

We lived in the same dorm, so he picked me up from my room and we went sake bombing with a big group of friends. We talked and joked the entire time, and by the time we arrived at the house to catch the buses, sparks were definitely flying between the two of us. We were both pretty tipsy at this point, and I figured we’d go to the venue, dance for awhile, hopefully hook up on the dance floor, then leave on the earliest bus to head back to his room for the night. He had even mentioned at one point that his roommate was out of town for the weekend, so we’d have his place to ourselves.

The bus ride over was more of the same (talking, laughing, getting to know each other), and when we got to the venue we immediately headed over to the dance floor. Everything was going better than I could have possibly hoped. He made a move soon after we started dancing, and we spent the next few minutes making out passionately as R. Kelly’s “Ignition (Remix)” played in the background. When the song ended, he pulled me over to a dark corner and surprised me by pulling out a flask filled with Fireball, which we then proceeded to share. With the flask empty, we returned to the dance floor, both much drunker than we had been previously, and continued our drunken dance floor make-out.

It was at this point that everything fell apart. The DJ turned the music down and announced that the first bus was about to get there, and anyone who wanted to leave should go get in line for it. Breaking apart, I grabbed Jimmy’s hand and we started slowly pushing our way through the crowd. I had been so caught up with Jimmy that I hadn’t noticed how badly I had needed to pee, and it was as soon as we got off the dance floor that it happened. I felt a warm trickle of liquid down the inside of my thighs, and an immense sense of relief washed over me. I didn’t immediately realize what had happened until Jimmy looked at the floor, noticed a small pool at my feet, and loudly exclaimed “Oh my God, did you just pee?!”

Following his gaze, I saw the dark stain spreading across my light grey dress and the puddle forming between my feet. Mortified, I did what any self-respecting drunk girl who had just humiliated herself in front of a boy she was trying to seduce would do in my situation. I broke down crying, continuing to bawl even as staff from the venue hurried me to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I was finally convinced to come out of the bathroom, the first bus was gone, as was Jimmy.

My roommate took me home and put me to bed. I woke up the next morning horrified and humiliated at what had happened, as well as extremely hungover. I spent the rest of the weekend in bed, avoiding everyone and dreading class on Monday. When I finally walked into the classroom and found myself face-to-face with him I couldn’t even look at him, and he hasn’t tried to talk to me since.

I should mention that he and I are in the same major, and I’ve had at least one class with him every semester since then, and will continue to have classes with him every semester until one of us graduates. So, you see? Your text bomb isn’t looking so bad after all.

Image via Shutterstock


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