in which wetsuits conspire against an innocent little girl.

before Dyke Training School, i fervently attended SalvationInc, the southern baptist division. i learned multiple lifelong skills there, not the least of which was how to make a manger for the baby jesus using only synthetic paste and popsicle sticks. as part of this extensive preparation for the Ungodly World, akin to the marine corps training program in its Seriousness, The Youth were required to take a Sanctified Youth Group White Water Rafting Trip. more important than the thrill of icy hypothermia-inducing waters swishing around a raft made out of canvas, yellow plastic, and air was the fact that The Crush was attending. if The Crush was there, i, like, had to be there. taking a shocking sledgehammer to stereotypes, The Crush possessed a penis, and yes, it was a genuine Crush. not to be confused with the Cover Up So No One Will Know Your Queer Queerness And Stop Eating Lunch With You In The Cafeteria Crush, of which i have had plenty. during the mostly uneventful Sanctified Trip, the raft, with me in it positioned strategically across from The Crush, happened upon a very large boulder. this boulder reminded me of the boulder that they rolled in front of jesus' tomb after they stashed him there to make him stay put and it overwhelmed me with its glory. no, that's not really true, this boulder really just scared the shit of me and i peed my pants.

'kid, peeing your pants is an embarrassing act, made all the more horrific by the presence of The Crush, but it's fairly Stealthy. no one probably even knew you had peed your pants at all. this story blows.'

i hear you, i really do. but this is what those Guest Speakers in your history class were talking about when they asked you to hold all questions/comments until the end.

because, see, it was november, and rafting in november in this section of hemisphere requires wetsuits. nothing but wetsuits and wool sweaters for us. so while pee in normal clothes would be absorbed into the sweet cotton/poly fibers relatively quickly, pee in wetsuits gets trapped for a little bit longer. and the november part means, you guessed it, steaming hot pee coming out of my urethra and down my legs right in front of The Crush's sacred, dreamy eyes. did you catch the part where i told you it was steaming? the lord at SalvationInc smote me that grey, loveless day with pee that steamed. The Crush, being a few years older and consequently much more mature than any of us could have imagined, promptly dropped his oar so he could laugh more thoroughly. this caused others to stop their own paddling so they wouldn't miss out on the humorous event that The Crush was apparently witnessing, and all 8 rafters joined in with holy joy.

of course our Professional Raft Guide steered us clear away from the boulder in no time, so that the fact that i peed my pants would be even more hilarious to our christian soldiers.

i didn't decide that SalvationInc wasn't for me until 5 years later, but i like to think that the first kernel of doubt was planted right then and there, in that goddamn freezing river.