Flower Show Day!
Today, will be the first day of your new life as an Incontinent American. You're gonna pee in your pants in front of the gladiolas at the flower show down at the Civic Center. On the ride home, your boyfriend will laugh it off, and you'll laugh with him, pretending it's just a silly girl thing. But you'll know it wasn't that. You'll know that you lost all control, as if the possibility of control over your bladder was never there in the first place.
Your doctor will put you on one of those medications they're advertising for women in their 30's to 40's who demand that tour buses pull over so they can run to a ladies room. But he'll also recommend you to a therapist. The very possibility that this could be rooted in something mental or emotional is going to send you into a deep depression for a few weeks.
Soon, your boyfriend's going to leave you and you're going to find the strength to soldier on with pee all over your thighs. By next Spring, you'll be a different person. A stronger person. And that's when you'll have the therapy session wherein you summon the repressed memory of walking in on your father making love to a strange woman when you were five and he and your mother were temporarily separated. You'll pee when you remember it. And while getting a grasp on that memory will give your incontinence some origin, you're still gonna wear a diaper until you die when you're 80.
Happy Flower Show Day!