I know, you’re wondering if this is a topic that really needs to be discussed. Or can we just bundle it up and toss it in the washing machine, pretending it never happened. And my response is that it does need to be discussed for two reasons. The first being because it’s good to create healthy discourse about things you are normally too embarrassed to bring into public view. And two, because we’ve all peed the sheets.

No one is ever proud of this unfortunate mishap, but it’s ok, everyone knows you didn’t do it purposefully, it was just an accident more than once. And either because you were a child traumatized by your divorcing parents, or you simply have an old lady’s bladder.

Or you blacked the fuck out.

Listen, I’ve had a few hard drinking friends who should’ve had a plastic wrap around their mattress. But can you picture the look on a person’s face when you’re getting romantic, and the first sound is that of lying on top of an unopened Amazon package? Talk about a buzz kill. No one wants to feel like they’re about to get busy on a hospital bed. I mean, putting on a condom is awkward enough.

I’m gonna come clean here. I was a bed wetter until the age of ten. In fact, I soaked my pants during recess in the 4th grade, terrified to re-enter the classroom. Hiding the wet leg wasn’t so difficult in the self-imposed solitary confinement of the boy’s restroom but passing through the gauntlet to my desk in the back of the room after the bell rung was a different mission. And sure enough, Reggie the class clown caught me dead in my tracks. “You Peed!” he yelped, pointing directly to the massacre.

Wetting the bed at that age was humiliating, but peeing your pants was a scarlet letter. It’s ok, I’ve come to terms with it, and it made me a stronger person.

Maybe this is why my favorite weed strain today is Cheatah Piss.