I’d write it in varying formats – print, cursive, block letters, fancy, messy and in any combination, only to scribble it out so hard that my pen rapidly tore holes in the lined notebook paper. Even though the names were scribbled beyond any hope of recognition, it couldn’t be risked, and that same lined paper found its way into the trash can next to my desk. Shredded and torn to little pieces.
After lunch the kids were getting ancy to start hunting down some Easter eggs. His mom asked if I would help hide the eggs, I agreed and tried to hit the bathroom before heading out. They had several bathrooms, but they were all occupied and those eggs just weren’t going to hide themselves. I made my way outside, against my better judgment. Once outside I stepped off the deck onto the lawn carrying my bag of eggs when it hits me. The overwhelming, paralyzing need to sneeze. And sneeze I do. But, the difference between this sneeze and the many sneezes that had plagued me prior to that day was the little detail that my bladder decided to “sneeze” along with the rest of my body. I peezed if you will. Or, in laymen’s terms, I peed my pants, at my boyfriend’s family gathering, 45 minutes away from my house.