Category Archives: Humour

They’re Magically Delicious

This story is dedicated to my mom, as it is her favourite story about me and she asked me recently why I haven’t told it yet. So heeeeere it is!

When I was just a little kitty, my very favourite cereal in the entire world was Lucky Charms.


So magically delicious. Like every child I of course looooved the marshmallows. Could not get enough. I could eat an entire bowl of just the marshmallows, easily.


Whenever I would eat my bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast I would eat all the boring oat pieces first and then save all the little marshmallows for last. I still do this with my dinner plates: eat the stuff that isn’t my favourite first so then the good things are all saved for last. It’s a good eating method. I recommend it. This way your favourite thing is the very last taste in your mouth.

One day when I was about three or four, my mom bought a giant family-sized box of Lucky Charms. She brought it home from the grocery store and as soon as she took it out of the bag I was all over it.


My mom noticed me admiring the box of deliciousness.


And she decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to just leave the box lying around, as I’d probably get into it.



But I didn’t WANT them for breakfast tomorrow, I wanted them right NOW.

My mom thought that a good place to “hide” the Lucky Charms would be on top of the refrigerator, because I was just little, and wouldn’t be able to reach it.


But when I want something that badly, I want it, and I WILL get it.

I stared at that box for the rest of the day. And as I was going to sleep that night, all I could think about were the Lucky Charms just sitting on the top of the fridge waiting for me. I had to have them.

So I woke up super early, before my parents, with the plan of acquiring that box of Lucky Charms. And actually I am not even sure how I woke up so early, but it’s possible that I didn’t sleep at all.

But anyway, I woke up super early (it was still dark), crept into the kitchen, and there they were.


In the same spot my mom had left them the night before. Still too high for me to reach.

But I was a resourceful little minx. So I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, quietly dragged it over to the fridge, and climbed up onto the counter.








The Lucky Charms and I were reunited.

I quickly (but quietly) put the chair back, took the box of Lucky Charms with me into my bedroom and shut the door. I was alone with my conquest. The Lucky Charms were all mine.

I immediately dumped the entire box onto my floor.


And then I sat down next to the mound of Lucky Charms and got to work.

I meticulously separated the marshmallows from the boring oat pieces one by one. It took me ages, but I didn’t give up. I picked out every last colourful piece of marshmallow and set it aside. In the end I had a pile of oat pieces (which I discarded), and a perfect pile of just marshmallows.


Which I then ate. I ate the entire pile of marshmallows.

In the morning my mom woke up a bit later than usual and thought it was weird that I wasn’t up and harassing her yet. It was very unlike me to be so quiet in my room so late. So she came in to check on me.


And this is how she found me.




As my mom tells me the story, and as she tells everyone she tells this story to, she found me eating the very last marshmallow in the box.

I spent the rest of the day alternating between laying around in a sugar coma and magically throwing up the rainbow.

But surprisingly I am not sick of Lucky Charms even now! And I still love those little marshmallows!


The Cat Sitter

So if you have been following my blog for a while this will probably come as no surprise to you, but I really like cats. I like dogs too, sure. I like pretty much any animal. But cats…I don’t even know what it is about them. I just love them. I have been known to be a little bit of a cat whisperer, and I feel like I can make even the bitchiest cat fall in love with me.

So perhaps it is my love of cats that made two of my friends ask me if I would mind catsitting for them over the holidays, I do not know. But apparently my catsitting skills are in high demand, because two of my friends did hit me up for this. And since I love cats, I accepted.

So let’s meet the kitties.

This is Marbles.


Marbles is very cute, and belongs to my former coworker and office bestie Lexy and her husband Mark ( <- check out his blog if you haven’t, it’s great!).

It was really hard to get a decent picture of Marbles, because, well, she hated me. She legit hated me. I hunted her down and forced a Christmas snuggle on her, but she did not like it.


She was not a fan. I didn’t even know what to do about this because cats love me! I thought she would come around and we would become friends, but it got progressively worse after the forced snuggle. The last time I dropped by to check on her she was hiding under a bed in the basement, and as soon as I stepped down the last step to go down and see her she started hissing. Sad times.

Marbles and I did not become BFF’s like I had envisioned, sadly, but it is okay! I had a backup cat (Lex and Mark, I need to take a second and apologize for shafting your cat and raving on about the next cat, but Marbles didn’t really give me any blog material…)

So this is Kitten the Cat.


Is that not the most gorgeous creature you have ever seen?

I had to text Lexy and tell her about the other cat I was catsitting…


(Yes, apparently they can Lex.)

Anyway, Kitten belongs to my good friend Catherine (or CathRON as I have called her for 10+ years because I had a dream that was how she spelled her name). I have mentioned Kitten on my blog several times before because HELLO HE IS AWESOME, and Catherine actually has a blog dedicated to him. I cannot take the credit for her starting the blog, but she used to post pictures of Kitten as a kitten on Facebook and I was all “YOU NEED TO START A KITTEN BLOG!” and then she did. And she does tell me that I gave her the idea to start a Kitten blog. So I will maybe take just a teensy bit of credit. But she is the one who is ultimately responsible for that awesome beast and writing those hilarious posts.

Anyway, I have seen many pictures of Kitten, but I had never had the ultimate pleasure of meeting him in person. And Catherine’s last catsitter got sexually molested by Kitten, so I was excited for some fun times.

Kitten greeted me when I walked into Catherine’s apartment for the first time like we were old friends.


Well, ish.

I was immediately struck by how much bigger and fluffier Kitten was in person than he is in pictures. He is a BIG CAT. He is basically a dog. I was so excited to meet him that I just picked him up immediately and got started on our snuggle fest.


I know that Kitten looks like he is a bit grumpy, but I think it is just his face. He did seem to genuinely like me. He would sit with me on the couch for quite a while and just let me molest his abnormal amount of fur with my hands. Just so much fur to run my fingers through (he didn’t actually molest me, disappointing).

I texted a picture of Kitten and I to Catherine and said that he liked me, and she immediately responded and said “YUP! That’s his happy face.”


And who am I to disagree?



Catherine would know best though, as she is his owner. If she says that’s his happy face, that’s his happy face.

And wherever Kitten was, and whatever he was doing, he always seemed to want to be staring at me.


Even if he was sitting all comfy in my lap, he would crane his neck all weird like in The Exorcist, and just stare at me.


I felt like he was staring directly into my soul.

I really think he could give Grumpy Cat and Colonel Meow a run for their money. Though honestly I am not sure if he’s a cat or a buffalo…


Or perhaps a walrus?


Whatever he is, I really, really liked him. I want one.


I just took so many pictures of him and I want to share them all!


I couldn’t get enough!

So those were my adventures in catsitting Marbles and Kitten over the holidays. I’m serious, check Kitten the Cat out! Catherine is finishing law school and doesn’t have time to blog very much, but when she does post it is gold in cat form.

And I will leave you with some photos of Kitten as a kitten…


And after a bath…


And again…


Okay, that’s all. Sorry if you don’t like cats (but as I said, he could also be a buffalo or a walrus). I will be back with less cats next week. Have a great weekend!


Adventures in Online Dating Part 2: The Dates

So I mentioned last week that I’ve had a few weird dates while I’m doing this whole online dating thing. For the most part my dates were fine. Everyone was very nice, and I didn’t meet anyone who was creepy weird (but like I said in my original online dating post, I had a screening process — had I not there would have been huge potential for creepy dates). I probably went on dates with about seven different people, and mostly they were fine. I did meet some cool people, and most were normal, regular guys. I just ultimately didn’t feel a connection or didn’t see it working out.

But let’s get to the weird ones.

The Socially Awkward Liar

The Socially Awkward Liar said in his dating profile that he was 5’11, but it was clear upon meeting him that he had lied about his height. He was shorter than me (I am 5’9), and just overall slight. I could for sure piggyback him no problem. When I was describing him later to my friend Sherrie, I believe I said that I could pick him up and throw him. Probably one-handed.

But, height is not something you can control, so I was not so shallow that I was going to shaft him because of that. It bothered me that he had lied, of course, and as a general rule I think it is very important to be honest and up front in your online dating profile — if you are going to end up dating someone you meet on there the ugly truth about you is going to come out anyway. Why prolong it? And I don’t know why he would choose to lie about something so OBVIOUS. But, we had dinner plans and I was hungry so I was willing to look past it.

It quickly became apparent though, that he had lied about several other things as well. Such as having any sort of sense of humour or personality. He came across very well through typing, but in person, nothing. Zero personality.

He barely laughed at anything I said. And people usually tell me I am funny (it’s my favourite compliment). Or if he did laugh, it seemed very forced and way delayed.

I also found it really hard to talk to him in general. Our entire dinner conversation consisted of him bombarding me with questions. It went something like this:

I hate that question. What don’t I do for fun? I do all the things for fun!

But he went on…

The entire date. Just relentless questions. He didn’t even wait for me to finish answering one question before launching into the next one. I felt like I was on a job interview for a job that I didn’t even want. It was so painful. And the questions he asked were all things that I think can come up organically in regular conversation. But he did pay, so all was not completely lost. And my dinner was really good.

The Bill Splitter

I was out for dinner with a guy who I thought was extremely funny. He made me laugh very hard, which is an important quality. He was definitely weird, but I have been known to be kind of weird as well, and I thought I might have a bit of an affinity for his weirdness. I was having a good time.

And then our sever came over to inquire about the bill…

And things took a turn for the awkward…

Oh, okay.

I didn’t mind paying but…call me old-fashioned or whatever, I think on a first date the guy should at least offer to pay. I would probably offer to split or at least cover the tip anyway…but especially if HE asked ME out. I didn’t want to get all weird about it though, so I tried to keep my face expressionless.

And then the server, all awkward, asked…

And he thought about it for a second, and then said…


I just stared at him. I didn’t know how to react. It was so weird. And it wasn’t even the most weird for me, it was so weird for our server!

Waiting for the bill (oh, sorry, bills) to come mayyyy have been the most awkward few minutes of my life. I just didn’t know what to say. And he didn’t stop staring at me during this time. He just looked at me all intensely with a creepy smile on his face. Neither of us said anything. I felt very uncomfortable.

And then finally, our server came back with our bills. She put each of our bills in front of us, and then looked at me like “This guy’s a douche.” And he did not take his eyes off me.

And then he grabbed both of the bills and ran away to pay them. Both of them! He paid for mine also. I was so confused. When he came back, I said something.

Um, no.

Here’s the thing. This guy was pretty funny (he used to be a stand up comedian), so I think he only did this to test me to see how I would react. He had planned on paying the entire time. While this is funny to an outsider, and it is funny to me now, it was not very funny at the time. This guy was way too unpredictable. I’m pretty sure he would make it a point to embarrass me in public all the time, and though I don’t embarrass easily, I am just not down with that. Unnecessary. No thank you.

“No Thanks, I Don’t Eat”

Date #3 seemed promising. He was very cute, great spelling and grammar, was tall, funny, had a hot Irish accent, and seemed super fun. And he took me to a comedy club. So wins all around.

Afterwards, we went out to a pub to get a drink. It was kinda late and I hadn’t eaten in a while, so as I was perusing the menu I asked…

Because I LOVE nachos.

Surely I misheard.

And so he repeated himself.

And then he explained to me that he worked in a bar, so he just didn’t buy food, and only ate when he was working.


On the one hand, I was impressed by his ability to not have to eat, because it would be nice to be able to go more than a few hours without dying of starvation. On the other hand, that is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard. Also, I am very, VERY, very very very food oriented. VERY.

I explained to him that I love food. Very much. I love it so much I have a blog basically about food. And he said that was great because he really needed to broaden his food horizons, because currently he does not eat fruit, vegetables, seafood or dessert. Under any circumstance.

Nooo thank you. No. I love food too much. How would we go out for dinner? What if I was at his house and he had no food available? I could starve! Images of me starving flashed before my eyes. I did not trust him not to let that happen. It would never work out. Eating is a VERY important part of my life. Not eating is a deal breaker.

And I did. And I ate the entire plate of them, and he did not even have one. Not even one. Because they had lettuce and tomato on them. And he doesn’t eat vegetables.

Oh don’t even get me started. I could go on for days about the point of nachos.


The Bully and the Lunchbox

From Grades 1 through 12, I took a bus to school. I didn’t mind it, and actually most of the time I liked it! I had extremely fun people on my bus, especially in high school. And when I was younger I would sit with my friends and play clapping games (like Miss Mary had a steamboat) the entire ride.

But it was not all fun and games. When I was in Grade 2 my bus went through some dark times.

The dark times were a boy named Darryl. Darryl was a year older than me, and he was a straight-up bully. Unfortunately, I was Darryl’s favourite victim. He would tease me, try to trip me, repeatedly tap me on the head if he was sitting behind me, pull my hair, call me ugly, steal my school bag, the list goes on. He was relentless.

I would go home and complain to my mom about all the terrible things Darryl said or did to me, and she would just tell me that boys teased you when they liked you, so he probably had a crush on me.

This did not make me feel any better about the teasing. If anything, it made me feel worse. Thinking about Darryl having a crush on me made me feel icky and grimy. He was a disgusting bully.

Darryl’s teasing went on for a few months. And I just quietly took it. Every single day. Sure, I yelled back at him, trying to defend myself. But the more I reacted, the more Darryl laughed at me, and he teased me even harder.

But one day Darryl took his teasing too far.

He thought it would be a good idea to make up a song about how ugly I was. Our bus ride was about 20 minutes long, and he sang the song repeatedly.

He even got a few of his little minions to join in on the chorus.

I sat in my seat clutching my plastic Beetlejuice lunchbox tightly, staring at the seat ahead of me, just seething. I tried to ignore him, but as he went on with his song, I got increasingly more angry.

Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped. In a rage, I grabbed my Beetlejuice lunchbox by the handle, turned around in my seat…

And I smashed him in his big stupid head.

I hit him so hard that my lunchbox cracked. A huge red gash appeared on his forehead, and he began bleeding profusely.

And then he did something I had never seen a bully do before. He started to cry.

I stared at him bleeding and crying, and I suddenly felt very sad for him. I regretted smashing him in the head with my lunchbox. I didn’t mean to hit him quite as hard as I did. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.

Darryl ran to tell our bus driver, who stopped the bus and called me up to the front. She said that she was going to have to inform the principal of the accident when we arrived at school.

I was terrified. I had never been in trouble before, and I knew that I was probably going to be sent to the principal’s office for this. The principal’s office was an unknown place to me, but I had a feeling it was very scary in there and it did not sound like a good time at all. I thought I was probably going to get at least a detention also, and that did not sound like a good time either.

I sat at my desk that morning, shaking in fear.

About half an hour after class started, I was called to the office. I was prepared for this moment, but I was not ready. I made my way slowly down the hall, prolonging my impending doom. When I reached the office, Darryl was already there, and he wasn’t crying anymore. He looked extremely smug and proud of himself.

We were instructed to sit in chairs in the secretary’s area until the principal was ready to see us.

And I knew he was right. I nearly started to cry.

After what seemed like a million years, the principal came out to collect us. He looked big and mean and scary, and I was afraid. Days of detention flashed before my eyes. I didn’t even know what went on in detention, but I pictured something similar to writing lines on the chalkboard like Bart in the Simpsons.

Darryl and I sat in chairs in front of his desk. He began to question us.

But then…

I looked up, surprised. This was true. Could our principal be on my side?

I explained that Darryl had been harassing me every day. That he tripped me in the aisle of the bus, and pulled my hair, and said terrible things about me, and made up a song about how ugly I was.

Our principal said the bus driver had told him this also. And then he said something I will never forget.

The smug smile immediately slowly from Darryl’s face. I was in shock.

I got a warning. Just a warning not to do that again. And that was that. We were free to go.

Word of the incident spread around the school, and for a few weeks I was a hero. Even kids in Grade 6 were coming up to me and asking me about Darryl and the lunchbox accident.

And guess what? Darryl never bothered me again. Not ever.

Now, I’m not saying that you should go around smashing people in the face with your lunchbox. But I am saying don’t bully people. Karma will get you. If not, someone with a hard plastic Beetlejuice lunchbox just might…


The Time JTT Called Me (only he didn’t)

When I was in the sixth grade, I loved Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

Honestly, I thought we were probably going to get married. I watched him every week on Home Improvement, repeatedly on Man of the House, listened to his sultry voice over and over again in the Lion King, and wished SO hard that I was Rachael Leigh Cook so that I could kiss him in Tom and Huck.

I had all of the JTT posters from BOP, and Tiger Beat and SuperTeen, and 16 and Teen Magazine plastered on the walls in my room so that it was basically a JTT shrine, and I would fantasize about meeting him.

Had this exact poster actually. Framed. Right beside my bed.

In my fantasies, I was always a professional figure skater like Kristi Yamagouchi, only I looked like Topanga from Boy Meets World because I thought she was sooooo beautiful.

I am comfortable with who I am now, but in Grade 6 I looked like this:

And I thought Topanga was way, way more cool. So, that was who I looked like.

In my fantasies, I (Topanga) would be nonchalantly figure skating in my hometown arena, also known as the world’s smallest arena (seriously, it was tiny, and the slogan was “It may be small, but it’s paid for!” and it was written on the wall). I would just be being all superstar on the ice, and all of a sudden JTT would show up and be watching me in awe from the sidelines. He would say “I NEED to know this girl! She is so awesome!” And he would just be mesmorized by sweet skating skills and want to be my boyfriend.

I wrote JTT numerous letters. Numerous. Like I cannot count how many (well, I think three). I would write to him and tell him about me, only alter myself jussssst slightly, because I had read in magazines about him so I knew what to say. JTT was a vegetarian, so I would write “I am SUCH a vegetarian. I cannot STAND meat. I just love tofu,” even though the only time I was remotely vegetarian was when my parents cooked tacos and I would loudly proclaim I was a vegetarian because I was going to try my third taco without beef.

And I would rave on in my letters about how much I looooooved fly-fishing, because I had heard that he loved fly-fishing, so I thought this would give us something in common. It wasn’t a total lie. I grew up on a lake, so I did genuinely love fishing, and my mom was an absolute pro star fisher. But I had never tried fly fishing, though I figured it couldn’t really be all that different from regular fishing. I thought I could go with it.

Basically whatever I had in common, or could possibly have in common, with JTT, I would rave on about it in my letters. I sent him my phone number, and I emphasized that I was single. I would send him pictures of me holding my cats. I remember this one picture I sent to him of me holding my cats (Winnie! It was Winnie and her brother!) and I looked HORRIBLE in it. I had the biggest double chin of all time, and I was wearing my super cool Northern Reflections sweater, and my one-and-a-half-year-old brother Eric was in it and had slobber all down his face and all over his onesie.

Well here, I’ll show you.

So it was not an attractive photo of myself. But my cats looked damn cute and Eric looked insanely happy. So meh, I sent it anyway. Sometimes I wonder if I ruined my chances with him because of this picture.

I once even sent him a gold chain that was just randomly in my room. A GOLD. CHAIN. Even though he was far more rich than I was, I sent him this just to show my love for him. Dumb.

So I loved JTT. I believe I have set the stage here.

My neighbour Scott (who was the same age as me) was over one day, and I may have let it slip to him about how much I loved JTT and how I thought we were going to get married. I told him how I wrote him all these letters and he never responded to me, and how I was so upset about this.

And about a week later I got a letter in the mail. It was from JTT.

JTT did not have the best spelling or grammar, but I loved him so I was willing to look past this (I cannot look past this now). And when I look back on this now, JTT did not really say very much at all, but he did say that he thought I was beautiful, that he would love to be my boyfriend, and that he was going to call me. And that was all that mattered to me.

JTT was going to call me. I did not question this very much at all because I SO WANTED to believe it was true. JTT wanted to be my boyfriend? Um, yes. Yes, yes and thrice yes. Yes please. Say no more. I could die happy.

I showed the letter to all my friends. Like “Look! Look at this! JTT likes me and wants to be my boyfriend!” And of course my friends were slightly skeptical, but I believed it was him so badly that I was pretty convincing. I was all “how else could I get this?!” and it was typed and printed, and I didn’t have a computer at the time so I told them I obviously couldn’t have written it. And my friends believed me.

I was so proud of that letter. I kept it with me at all times and raved on about it to anyone who would listen. Any time someone was talking to me I would be thinking in my head “But I am more important. I am friends with JTT. He wants to be my boyfriend.”

And then, a week or so after I got the letter, I got a phone call. From a young male who asked for me and identified himself as JTT. I nearly melted.

Now please note, this was before call display, and even before star 69, so I couldn’t check up on this.

I don’t even know what I said to him except for “blaaaaaarrrrg,” because I was so nervous. JTT liked me so much that he sent me a letter saying he wanted to be my boyfriend, and now he was calling me! It was the absolutely best day of my life up to that point. I don’t know if I have ever been so excited even to this day.

So JTT and I had a nice conversation, and I asked him about fly-fishing and being a vegetarian. And he answered. And I ate it up. I ate it alllllll up. I felt like I was living in a dream. Except I was no longer Topanga. I was me, with my double-chin and my super cute kitties and my idiot little brother. And JTT liked it. I cannot even explain to you the joy I felt. You better believe I told all my friends. I went on and on about it for at least a week.

And then things started to feel weird. My neighbour Scott came over one day and he somehow knew about the phone call, even though I never told him about it. He asked me about it, and he asked about it in a weird way that suggested he knew what we talked about. So I questioned him. And he said that JTT was his cousin and had told him.

Wait wait. JTT was his COUSIN?!

At first I believed this, but as he talked about it more, things were not adding up in my head and Scott seemed like he was shady.

I didn’t want to believe it wasn’t real, and I didn’t want to question JTT, but in the end I had no choice. I questioned. And JTT turned out to be Scott. Scott was the one who had written me that letter, and Scott was the one who called me. Scott was a Dbag.

I was devastated. And so embarrassed. Just so ridiculously embarrassed. I had to tell all my friends that JTT had in fact never written me back, and never called me, and it was Scott all along. All my fantasies were crushed.

JTT was never the same in my eyes, and I took all my posters down and moved on to liking Devon Sawa.

It took years for me to live down the JTT situation, and my friends from elementary school STILL bring it up.

They’re all “Hey, remember the time you thought JTT wrote you that letter and called you?” Of course I remember, idiots. Do you know what it is like to have a dream so vividly in front of you and then be snatched away by your stupid neighbour?

My only consolation about this whole thing is that JTT didn’t age well. Not at all.

He did not make it out onto the other side of puberty okay. So…I feel like in the long run I am better off.

And hey JTT, if you ever read this I have one thing to say to you. I want my gold chain back.


Blame it on the a-a-a-a-apple juice

When I was about six, my favourite uncle, Uncle Donny (or Uncle Donkey), took me camping. I was so, so excited for this camping trip for two reasons:

1. I LOVE camping.

2. My uncle thought I was grown-up enough to take me camping, alone, without my parents. He wanted to spend time with just me.

Because of reason number two, I promised myself that I was going to make it the best camping experience of my uncle’s life and he was forever going to want to bring me camping. I was going to be on my absolute best behaviour, not annoy him in any way, not cause any sort of problems, and overall just make him feel like he was camping with a grown-up. I did not want him to feel like he had to take care of me.

All was going well with my plan. I was confident he was having a great time and I had just made a camping buddy for life.

But on the very last night, I woke up in the middle of the night having to pee very, very badly.

I am not sure why this happened, because I sleep like a rock and I never, ever wake up having to go to the bathroom. But on this particular night, the feeling wouldn’t leave me. I really, really had to go.

I laid in my sleeping bag and thought about my options.

Option 1: Go out of the tent by myself and find a bush outside.

No. Not going to work. It was too dark and scary outside. I thought about all the creatures that were probably just waiting for me to get out of my cozy sleeping bag and out of the tent into the open so they could attack me. Spiders for sure. And probably bears. Maybe even ghosts (we had been telling ghost stories all night, so they were in my brain).

No thank you. I just couldn’t do it. Option 1 was not an option.

Option 2: Wake up my uncle and get him to take me to the bathroom.

This was a more desirable option, but it threw a wrench in my plan of being the perfect niece who could take care of herself. I wanted my uncle to bring me camping again, and I thought waking him up in the middle of the night and making him take me to the bathroom would cloud his memory of the good times we had. I wanted to be viewed as an independent adult who could take care of herself.

And I also didn’t want him to know that I was too scared to go outside of the tent by myself.

Annnnnd I was also embarrassed because he is a boy and I am a girl, and I wasn’t comfortable talking about bathroom stuff with him, as silly as that sounds.

Option 3: Hold it and go back to sleep.

Not happening. I had to go soo badly.

Option 4: Wet the bed.

Now, this might actually work. How much urine could my bladder possibly hold? I figured I could just do it quickly and go back to sleep. It wouldn’t be so bad, and by the morning it would be dry and no one would ever have to know about it.

I laid there, and I thought about it. And in the end, option 4 sounded best to me.

So I did it.

And it was sweet, sweet relief.

So the next morning, we were packing up our campsite, and my uncle noticed that my sleeping bag was wet. And he said to me

And I obviously didn’t want to say “Well, I wet the bed last night…”

I had to think of something…

So I just said the first thing that entered my brain.

I was so happy and proud of myself that I had come up with a plausible reason for why my sleeping bag would be wet. Of course it was apple juice! What else would it be?

My uncle never said anything to me about it. Not one word. But after he took me home, my mom confronted me.

Oh. I didn’t think about this.


Stupid non-existent apple juice ruining my story.

My uncle did take me camping again though. So all was not lost.