I am suffering some trauma right now, guys. I thought I would share because – what the hell? – everyone seems to have always gotten a kick out of my suffering in the past.
It’s all about my guest room. This room is in the basement of our new house and it’s pretty nice. Cushy carpet, freshly painted walls and ceiling (because I just had to cover up the nasty mustard beige that was down there before), new furniture, everything.
And yeah, the furniture is from Ikea and so whatever, it’s not like I spent a ton of money on this guest room. But I put some thought and time and money into it, even before I put any into my own room, because ever since May, we’ve had a pretty steady stream of guests lined up. In fact, our most recent guest left earlier this month and I washed the bedding and was down remaking the bed yet again and I distinctly recall thinking to myself how glad I was that we didn’t have any more guests lined up any time soon because I am getting sick of doing that laundry.
Friends, I was mistaken. Both about how soon I would have to do that laundry again and about how tedious a chore it was all the times prior.
You see, someone peed in my guest bed.
And didn’t tell me.
And I just had to deal with it more than a day after the fact.
And it reeks.
What happened was that At had some friends and coworkers over for a night of food, drinks and Exploding Kittens last Friday. It was a really great night, too! We had so much fun and people really seemed to appreciate both our hospitality and our cooking. Really, it was an unqualified success.
We even had an overnight guest, although not by design. One of our guests had a bit too much to drink and fell asleep in the guest room, where they stayed all night. No big deal. I would much rather have a surprise house guest than I would send someone out to drive drunk.
The following morning, we gave them some breakfast and some coffee and some assurances that they didn’t need to be embarrassed at all about staying over. But they seemed extra squirrely and left pretty soon after getting up.
Of course, what they knew and we didn’t, was that they had wet the bed. In retrospect, it all makes so much more sense.
And now I am torn, because I get why they didn’t say anything but also, I am kind of pissed (ha!) that they didn’t. It wasn’t going to get any better with the keeping, after all. And the more time it had to sit there, the more time it had to soak all the way through the foam mattress and every layer of bedding on the bed because, yeah, they passed out on top of the comforter.
I can just imagine how it would have looked, too, to have someone else come over and be shown to the guest room and to have them try to settle in for the night only to find that everything smells of stale urine and the sheets are all dry and crusty in a patch.
So I guess the moral of the story is, if you’re going to pee in someone else’s bed, I don’t care how embarrassing it is to fess up to it, you should really fess up. They’re going to find out one way or another, so really, all you’re doing by not saying anything is delaying the inevitable and adding a reason for them to be disgruntled when they do find out.
The more you know.