Move along. Nothing to see here.

I wrote this for my memoir writing group a week or so ago.  I figure it's a story I'll never live down so I might as well record it before someone else does.  Here it is for your reading pleasure.  Just remember, I was only four so be nice...

Kerplunk: A Short Christmas Story

The year was 1974, give or take a year.  I was about four years old and my older sister, Chantal, and I shared a bedroom in the basement.  It was Christmas Eve and we were nestled all snug in our beds;  Chantal had the top bunk, I was on the bottom.  There was one rule that had been drilled into our heads before we went to bed that night: Do not get up until you hear the radio.  That was always the signal that Santa had come and it was safe to come upstairs and see our presents.

While falling asleep on Christmas Eve is never easy, I had every intention of staying in bed.  But then it hit.  I had to go to the bathroom.  I don’t know how long I fought it.  So many years later, I can only imagine the thoughts that must have been going through my worried little head.  Of course, the bathroom was upstairs so that wasn’t even an option.  What should I do?  Well, I did the only thing I could do.  Knowing I’d be in big trouble if I wet my bed, I carefully climbed up the ladder to the top bunk, crawled in with Chantal, and wet her bed instead.  Only I didn’t just wet. 

The next morning, I tried to explain to my parents what happened.  I don’t remember what, exactly, I said.  I may have made something up to explain why I was in Chantal’s bed.  Maybe I said I was cold or scared.  But at some point in my explanation, I said, “...and then all of the sudden, Kerplunk!” 

That innocent little statement changed this funny little incident that should have been quickly forgotten to the realm of legend in my family.  If we have a family gathering and the word ‘kerplunk’ comes up, you can bet that someone will tell the story.  Lucky me.