When I was in 1st grade, I refused to use public bathrooms.  In fact, my best friend had the privilege of being the only person who had a bathroom other than my own that I would use at the time.  Anyways, her mom picked me up from school and told me we had to run some errands before going home.  I already had to pee, told her that, and she offered to take me into the grocery store so I could go there.  But I refused.  So we ran various errands and finally made it to their apartment.  I was about to burst, so I started running up the three flights of stairs to their apartment door, meanwhile stripping off my coat, boots, and snowpants (it was cold cold winter) on my way.  My friend's dad, looking baffled, opened the door for me; I rushed past him down the hallway, so proud of myself for removing almost all the crucial layers between me and the toilet, made it into the bathroom ..... and couldn't undo the button on my jeans.  And there, I peed.  All over.  I was so embarrassed.

I don't remember why, but for some reason, my friend and her mom didn't come upstairs with me.  Maybe they continued to run errands but dropped me off early due to my dire situation?  In any case, it was just me and my friend's dad there, and he was left to find me some pants and a new pair of underwear that I could wear until my mom came to get me.

*I was inspired to write this post because a bloggy friend (who Donnie went to college with -- small world!) of mine wrote her very own pee-in-her-pants story on her blog and, well, there's something contagious about such cathartic sharing.  Enjoy!