Last week, I told you about the time I peed my pants while folding the American flag. (Graceful, eh?) This week, my story is similar. Another pee-in-the-pants story. (I promise, I only peed my pants these two times! …I think.)

When I was growing up, Dad was a truck driver. For a little while, he drove a gas tanker locally, but then he got a job delivering stuff all over the country. I begged him to let me go with him once, and before the summer ended, he let my sister and I ride with him on a trip. It wasn’t very far, but it was far enough to get excited.

Dad drove one of those big trucks with the huge cab (it had a bunk bed in it!), and when we slept at night, my sister and I got the top bunk and Dad got the bottom. One night, while we were at a truck stop, I woke up with the serious urge to pee. Back then, Dad was a heavy sleeper, so even though I was practically slapping him in the face, he wouldn’t budge. I thought, maybe I’ll just go outside and squat.

I made my way to the front of the cab, and peeked out the curtains (yeah, the windows all had awesome curtains for privacy), and I saw a man walking around. It was like two in the morning, people! I was creeped out. There was no way I was going to get out of that truck and squat with some creepy man walking around.

After several attempts of trying to wake Dad up again, I became frustrated. I sat on the passenger seat in the front of the cab, trying to hold it. I was in tears by this point. Finally, I just let it out. Right on the seat. Ah, relief.

After that … Well, I’m pretty sure I changed my clothes (though I can’t really remember that part–let’s just hope I did) and went back to bed. I’m not sure if Dad even knew what had happened because I can’t recall him ever saying anything about it.