I'm no different from anyone else, I'm sure, but when I was a kid wetting the bed was generally...er...precipitated by dreams where I was busting for a wee and would be rushing around trying to find a toilet, my relief at finally getting to one to be only short-lived as I woke in my bed, in the dark, swimming in a puddle of my own piddle.
(Hey, come on, I could have thrown paddle in there too.)
I will never ever forget the night I woke from one such dream before I got to the toilet scene and was able to get up, like a big girl, and go to the toilet. It was a revelation. It smelled of victory, and maybe napalm. But that could have just been the lingering mothball odour from the sheets.
Although from that point on I marched proudly forth into a non-bed wetting future, I must admit that what stays with me is the dreams and a lingering fear of wetting the bed. Many are the nights I've woken anxiously from such a nightmare, pawing at the bed checking for dryness or, horrors, wetness.
While living with Grumpy he made a significant dip on his side of the bed so I would often carefully pat around him to check he was not snoring blissfully in a warm bath courtesy of moi.
I know I'm not going to wet the bed. I'm 41 years old. I haven't went the bed for 35 years - give or take 15 years. And if it did happen, so what? It's only wee. But still. I have to go to Spotlight next week. Maybe I should check if they do waterproof sheets for queen size beds.