SPEAKING FROM THE PEW: I THINK WE SHOULD ALL TALK ABOUT THE TIME WE PEED OURSELVES IN CHURCH. C'MON. IT'LL BE FUN.

As a side note, this post was inspired by Cathy at Antsy Pants go check her out.

I was too old to be peeing myself. Somewhere in the third to fourth grade category. I was staying with my aunt while my parents were out of town. I felt uber fab in my velour fuchsia Sunday School dress. Even more fabulous because I was wearing my first pair of deep, dark, savage tan panty hose with ... wait for it ... my first pair of slip on high-heeled leather CLOGS.

I was standing in the very church that my grandfather had ministered in years before, feeling very mature and sophisticated in my hose and clogs. Until I felt the overwhelming urge to pee. I told my cousin I had to pee. She advised me to wait until after the prayer.

I waited until after the prayer; however, my pee did not. It ran down my legs, saturating my panty hose, flowing all over my brand new LEATHER clogs, and slowly began to make its fateful journey across the wooden floor of the church to the front of the sanctuary. I could see it running down the floor away from me, but I wasn't in a position to see where the stinkery flow of yellow hell was headed.

I knew it was most likely weaving its way towards the pew directly in front of me. At the very least. Covering other people's sensible Sunday shoes. Or precious leather clogs. I don't know. It was unspeakable. I felt mortified and completely helpless. What was I to do? Tap the lady in front of me, Excuse me ma'am, God bless you, but you are standing in a puddle of my urine. So sorry for the untimely leakage of my bodily fluids onto your BOGO Payless pumps.

What I do know is that when my cousin motioned for me to go to the bathroom, I whispered

It's too late.

My God was it too late! She looked down and realized that indeed it was too late. She took me back to her parent's house. I changed clothes and we returned to church to bring the rest of her family home. Nary a word was ever said to me about it. TO MY FACE! Oh the shame!

To this day I still wonder if the people in the pews knew the wet substance they were standing in was my urine. And if it stank. And if the parishioners started exclaiming and wailing and gnashing their clogs when they realized they were knee deep in my whiz.

And for the love of God, who had to clean it up?

So gross.

Dear Lord and Jesus, I apologize for the pee. My bladder knew not what it could and could not contain through out a lengthy non-denominational prayer. Amen.

Okay, just like breathing, we have ALL done it. I want the pee pants stories. Give them to me! IN THE COMMENTS!