The Day I Peed My Shoe. Yesterday, Actually. Yesterday, I Peed My Shoe.

Once upon a time, I wet my shoe.

Not the pretty kind of “wetting my shoe” that’s an adorable misleading statement where I say, “I wet my shoe,” but then I’m all, “J/K! I got my shoe wet with the garden hose while watering the garden. Gotcha!” You know what I mean? Like when you drop a pea on the floor and say, “I peed the floor,” and your nine-year-olds think you’re HILARIOUS and your teenage daughter rolls All the Eyes in All the World and goes, “Stop, Mom. Just stop.”

Nope, this is not that; in this situation, I wet my shoe with my very own urine because — and here’s where I offer as true an explanation as I know — at my core, I am a gigantic dork. A gigantic, shoe-wetting dork.
Now, to be fair to my sweet self, this incident wasn’t actually as bad as the time last fall when I wet my office, about which I haven’t written because I’m loathe to be the girl who pooped my closet AND the girl who peed my office. I mean, how much believable pottying-on-oneself can one actually do? At some point, people will necessarily question my credibility, right? In our current shame-based culture where we can’t even share our lovely lunch pictures on the Facebook (while being simultaneously chided to treasure the little things) without being accused of the overshare, I was afraid I Couldn’t Take It. Losing even more credibility AND being re-accused of over-sharing? HOW WILL I ENDURE THE SHAME?

So I didn’t.

I left the office-peeing story untold.

And it shall remain untold for now, because I have a more pressing matter to address, which is the wetting of my shoe, about which I felt a similar measure of shame to the wetting of my office, until I remembered this afternoon that I HAVE no shame. I lost it long ago, as well as my dignity. I also realized that being absent the credible makes one incredible, and I was all, “INCREDIBLE ME can SO TELL THIS STORY.”

Which is why I’m here to let you know that once upon a time, I wet my shoe.


Once upon a time yesterday, I wet my shoe.

While on my way home from the Grace in the Grime Spiritual Formation Retreat, I wet my shoe.

In a port-a-potty, I wet my shoe.

After bragging at the retreat how good I am at the “hover, aim and pee splash-free” maneuver — because this is the kind of thing one always discusses at a spiritual formation retreat, yes? — I wet my shoe.

I hovered, indeed, but then I missed, and it cascaded off the seat, creating a waterfall effect off the rim, which is how I wet my shoe. Which I failed to feel at first, so I REALLY wet my shoe.

The night after I told lovely retreat ladies in the hot tub overlooking the Pacific Ocean at sunset about Peeing My Office and about the shame which kept me from telling all of you, I wet my shoe.

Probably because Jesus was giving me more opportunities to be Authentically Me, I wet my shoe. We must, after all, credit Jesus with All the Gifts and Give Thanks in All Things, and I clearly have the spiritual gift of Soiling Myself, so Thank You, Jesus!

I wrote the ladies just now, in fact, and I shall share with you, too, for the sake of expedience and friendship and OBEDIENCE TO GOD, as you will see…

Ladies. Ladies. Ladies.

I need to tell you something.


I WET it. With PEE. I am writing about it currently, but I feel that Jesus, who is mean and vindictive (not really) (I think) FORCED ME TO PEE MY SHOE because I neglected to tell the story in the fall about peeing my office. Do we think it’s a COINCIDENCE that I confessed that story to you in the hot tub on SATURDAY and then on SUNDAY I peed my shoe? THAT IS NOT COINCIDENCE, friends; it’s obviously my spiritual gift to pee and poop All the Things — I mean, HOW MANY TIMES DOES JESUS NEED TO SHOW ME THIS BEFORE I ACCEPT IT AS TRUTH?? — and then write about those things. I REJECTED my spiritual gift last fall after the incident that combined tights with that lady-pee-device and my consistently poor judgement, and then I hid my light under a bushel AND TOLD NO ONE WHAT I HAD DONE. Except a few friends at work. And also some people on my back patio when we drank whiskey one night. And also the people at the writing retreat. And also all of you ladies in the hot tub. But, other than, like, a few dozen people, I TOLD NO ONE, so Jesus made me wet my shoe to get my attention. Because Jesus is WILY and PERSISTENTLY IN PURSUIT OF HELPING US FIND AND ACCEPT OURSELVES AND OUR SPIRITUAL GIFTS. (Psst… one part of that may actually be true.)

Anyway — I’ll write more on the blog, but just wanted to let you know — NOT GONNA HIDE WHO GOD AUTHENTICALLY CALLED ME TO BE! HEART INTELLIGENCE! WORK OF THE HOLY SPIRIT!

Also, friendly word of advice… maybe aim REALLY GOOD in port-a-potties so your pee doesn’t cascade off the rim of the toilet, over which you’re hovering, and create a waterfall that gushes into your Dansko clog, which is uniquely shaped to capture every bit of the ever-flowing stream. I mean… up to you to accept or reject my advice, of course… you do you… but I thought I’d mention it in case it helps.

In conclusion, I once peed my shoe. Yesterday, actually. Thanks be to God.






P.S. I stole the Danskos pic from the Danksos site and am using it without permission. FREE ADVERTISING FOR DANSKO! I figure they won’t mind. I mean, who DOESN’T want to know Dansko clogs are easy to pee into? <<<SELLING POINT.

P.P.S. I’m finishing this (rudely) while at dinner with Greg and our friends, John and BJ, and I told them I can’t talk yet because I’m writing about peeing my shoe. Greg said, “Again?” And John said, “I peed both of mine today.” In extra conclusion, I like John better than Greg. The End.

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12 responses to “The Day I Peed My Shoe. Yesterday, Actually. Yesterday, I Peed My Shoe.”

  1. In the garage. Next to the car. Because standing up after driving was too much work for my pelvic floor to handle with a full bladder. (4 big babies. I blame them.) The toilet was 20 feet away but I didn’t make it. Luckily my husband didn’t see me rinse out my leather sandals or question why I’d put on pajamas and was starting a load of laundry immediately afterward.

  2. UM, I did the same thing once in a porta-potty but the pee hit the rim and shot straight into my bike shorts. We were halfway through a long bike ride, and I had to ride all the way back with my shorts soaked in pee. It was awesome.

  3. 8 1/2 pregnant with hyperemesis, I wretched and wretched and dry heaved in the bathroom of the ob’s office. All the wretching caused me to pee on the floor while puking in the toilet, which had become so commonplace, I actually had spare unders in my purse. But the real story is what the poor nurse endured when she asked me to pee in a cup for her. Enter emotional, hormonal, having puked 30 times in the last 3 hours, hysterically weeping pregnant woman who could not stop crying because there was no pee to pee. It was ugly. And then I puked more and got a 4 day admission to the hospital getting to listen to other mamas HaVE their babies while I continued to puke with mine onboard. I was very jealous.

  4. Bwahahaha. I have peed my shoe before, and the hem of my pants. In my defense: 7 months pregnant + SQUAT TOILET. The end.

  5. No such thing as coincidences – they are all God Sightings – or so a minister friend of mine told me years ago. Maybe I should have looked at my bladder leakage (aka: fountain of pee) as a Spiritual Gift to be embraced rather than a nuisance to be spread-eagled-slung-up-surgically repaired! Nah! I’d much rather enjoy a good sneeze sans pee!!

  6. When I’m in the middle of my most current scrape (like Anne of Green Gables!), I always think, What am I supposed to learn from this?

    Had I been in your shoes (hee, hee, get it?), my conclusion would have been that God was using the opportunity to teach me empathy.

    God: Remember all those times you were hufffy about cleaning up your kids’ pee? Maybe they weren’t just peeing everywhere to make you mad. Maybe they were accidents. Can you see now how they might have been accidents?
    Me: I suppose. Do I get huffy about cleaning up pee?
    God: Ummmm…yes. You do. Maybe you could work on your bodily fluids servant heart?
    Me: Is that a thing?
    God: Yes.
    Me: Okay. Maybe I will do an artsy floral watercolor word art creation that says “Create in me a clean heart, O God, for handling bodily fluids with love and joy.”
    God: Sounds good.

    Anyway. Life seems to be a series of scrapes where we can learn helpful things just like this. Thanks for sharing. 🙂

    • I am mentally preparing myself to toilet-train my youngest, very feisty daughter who has zero interest in using the toilet (unless it’s after bedtime). I need to work on my bodily fluids servant heart!

  7. And… in a “Six Degrees of Separation” sort of way, this explains why John washed out his kayak in the river BEFORE the drive home whereas I was able to wait to wash mine in the front yard at the house having peed nothing. End of report.

  8. And how long did it take you to actually wash your foot? That’s what I want to know! Because I know you drove home and then had a house full of peeps that wanted your attention. So…..when did you bathe it Beth? Or have you not yet?

  9. “hover, aim and pee splash-free”, so it doesn’t work as good as you claimed? I guess I’ll quit practicing. Maybe I’ll try Maggie’s method, waddle and all.

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