memory lane

I was a bedwetter.
It was a curse and I hated it, but still... I continued to wet the bed.
We weren't allowed to spend the night at people's houses so that eliminated any embarrassing waking-up-next-to-my-friend-soaked-to-the-bone-in-pee kind of moments.
Moma tried alot of things to get me to stop. Apparently, there are some kids out there who are actually too lazy to get up during the night and would prefer to lie in bed soaked to the bone in pee. My cousin was one of those kids. He gave me a bad rap and for a little while Moma thought I was wetting the bed on purpose. (I forgive you for that, Moma.)
I wasn't one of those kids. I slept like the dead and needing to go pee wasn't enough to wake me.
On the bright side, I learned how to do my own laundry at age five. I had to stand in the washer to get the blankets in there, but I could do it.
Anyhoo.
Seven year old kid + Bedwetting = Super embarrassing.
I didn't want anyone to know.
My Uncle Jeff found out one time and I sat there in absolute, utter shame. I hung my head and cried. But he was so sweet. He sat down, put his arm around me, and told me how he used to wet the bed too. He had had one of those embarrassing moments waking up next to a friend, soaked to the bone. He understood.

Sidenote: I don't wet the bed anymore. (Whew. It's a good thing. I hate doing laundry.) When I was eleven, I figured out a little trick that put a stop to all my nighttime involuntary urination.
If I dream about going pee, I know it's time to wake up. If I don't dream about going pee, I can sleep on.
That's it. That's the trick. I still use it today at 27 years old. Works like a charm.

I have a point to this story...

Danica L.
Blonde and freckled.
She was the most popular seven year old I ever knew.
She was pretty, she lived in a nice house, she wore cute dresses, and she owned more scrunchies than anyone else.
Therefore, she ruled.
The rest of us were minions in her court.
I was a willing minion though. I adored her. Whatever Danica wanted from me, Danica got.
She started a babysitting club. She wanted it to be just like the books. It was pretty much the coolest idea ever. She said to me, Give me all your quarters and I'll let you join.
She was going to let me join???
I gave her all my quarters and a dime.
Danica dissolved the club the next day and kept my quarters. And the dime.

She said to me, Tell me who you like, I'll never tell ANYONE. Best friends tell each other EVERYTHING.
Did she just call me her best friend???
I told her.
And the next day at church, she ran up and down the aisles singing, Sunny likes Ja-red! Sunny likes Ja-red!
Jared was there so I hid under my pew and cried out my humiliation. I had had the hugest crush on him since I was four. It was a secret I planned to carry with me to my grave and Danica had just ruined it.

I woke up one Sunday morning covered from head to toe in psoriasis and when I got to church Danica said, What's that red stuff all over your face?
I told her and she said, I know. Let's play a game. I'll run and you follow me. Okay?
Did she just ask me to play with her???
I started happily running after her until I noticed she was running up to Jared and screaming, Sunny has a disease! Don't let her touch you!
I hid under my pew and cried again.

You'd think I would catch on, right?
I didn't. I'm a little slow on the uptake.
So when Danica came to my house one day and wanted to know if those pull-ups under my bed belonged to me or my dolls...
(You can tell me. I won't tell ANYONE. Best friends tell each other EVERYTHING.)
(Did she just call me her best friend again???)
... I told her I was a bedwetter.
And the next day at church, there was Danica.
Running up and down the aisles, singing at the top of her lungs, Sunny wets the bed! Sunny wets the bed!
The underneath of my pew made my accquaintance again.
I stashed a box of Kleenex there.

When I remembered Danica the other day, I couldn't decide whether I should laugh or feel really sorry for my little kid self.
So I did both.
I think she might have been genetically mean though. She couldn't help being a bully.
One time her mom spanked me for asking if she had just farted. Who does that?
And another time her little brother pushed my little brother into an ant pile and held him there while he screamed. We had to throw my little brother into the swimming pool to get the ants off of him. Poor little guy.

So, Danica, if you ever read this...
You've probably have grown up into a really nice person, but... I want my quarters back.
And the dime.

Also, I wish I had spent the night at your house and peed on you.