This article is part of the Life topic. Below are more articles in this topic.
This article has been submitted by a GrownUps member. GrownUps accepts no liability for its content and the views and information contained within are not necessarily those of the GrownUps website.
I clearly remember my first day at school.
It was a catholic school, with nuns for teachers.
They were dressed in really strange black clothes, with gathered skirts and long veils, white starched collars and bib like things around their neck.
They also wore lots of jiggly beads, that rattled when they walked.
But they did seem to be very kind, and had lovely crinkley smiles, and they looked very, very, old.
My teacher told the class that my name was Patty, then explained that if I needed to leave the room to use the toilet, all I had to do was raise my hand and say, "Please may I leave the room".
That seemed easy enough. But, when I needed to "go", I was far to shy to ask, so I held on 'till I was nearly bursting.
First a trickle, then came the rest. I sat frozen with fear, hoping it would go away, or maybe dry up. It was so frightening, I was hoping it was just a bad dream and that I would wake up and it would be gone.
But the offending puddle under my desk stayed exactly where it landed, right under me, I even tried to spread it around with my shoes but it only looked bigger. So on my very first day of school, I was sent home wearing a pair of the nuns very large baggy black bloomers, that slipped down with every step and my own very wet panties in my school bag along with my left over lunch