—
Is DSW male-only? Let’s unravel this strange phenomenon.
___
Every man I know has experienced DSW.
All my mates have done it, my step-father’s done it, my boss has done it; the current Mr. Gillmore once did it in a bride’s shoes. I’ve done it on more occasions than I care to admit (although I will admit them for the benefit of this article), but what astounds me most about DSW is this: no woman I know of has been through it. Even the lariest, loudest, most outrageous of my female friends cannot lay claim to personal experience of DSW, nor tell me of a female friend who has.
If I’m wrong, if you’re a woman reading this and you’ve done it, or a man who knows a woman who’s done it, let me know. Because it seems to me what I’m talking about is unlikely to be a biologically-driven phenomenon. What am I talking about? I’m talking about Drunken Sleepwalk Weeing.
◊♦◊
Of course, the main issue with DSW is that, at the time, you don’t know you’re doing it. Hell, half the time you wouldn’t even known you’d done it unless there were witnesses or evidence. Unfortunately, there’s almost always a healthy supply of both.
You don’t even know you’ve done it unless they were witnesses or evidence. Unfortunately, there’s always a healthy supply of both.
|
‘I woke up in the hotel kitchen surrounded by maids’ Michael tells me in the bar on Wednesday night. Lauchlan, Tom the Pom and I are with him in Bondi because Thursday morning his results from the fertility clinic are due. I doubt mid-week drinking is going to improve them but it seems he needs company. ‘I was wearing nothing but my underwear and a still steaming stain down my right leg. All the maids were screaming, I think that’s what woke me up.’
I chose to check out early, before he woke up wondering why his feet were wet.
|
This was at a wedding in Scotland. Personally, I doubt your average Scottish chambermaid would scream at the sight of a man in his underwear, it was probably just them laughing in that accent, but weddings do seem to be a common element among many DSW stories. Maybe it’s the free alcohol. I remember one wedding where I had to share a hotel room with a distant cousin of the groom. I chose to check out early, before he woke up wondering why his feet were wet.
But the story I always share on this subject involves my beloved brother-in-law, OP. After a particularly raucous in night in London ten years ago, OP, still new family in those days and visiting for the weekend, turned on the light to find me stark naked and urinating carefully into his unpacked rucksack. It contained all his clothes, his camera, his phone and his books and, it being a waterproof rucksack, they weren’t far off floating.
It wasn’t his screams that woke me up, it was the light going on as his parents, and my girlfriend, barged in to see what all the noise was about.
|
‘I can do better than that’ says Lauchie, not that any of us are competing. ‘I was seeing this girl when I was seventeen. We went out drinking and, I can’t remember why, I stayed over at her parents’ house. For some reason they didn’t trust me, and they made me sleep in her little brother’s bedroom. He had bunk beds and I was supposed to sleep on the top one. Maybe I did at first, but I woke up peeing all over him. It wasn’t his screams that woke me up, it was the light going on as his parents, and my girlfriend, barged in to see what all the noise was about. She broke up with me a few days after that.’
I make Lauchie swear this actually happened, and he crosses himself, like that’s supposed to convince me. Michael tells us about doing it into his dishwasher (why is it so often into something?) and I remember once being told I’d used a rubbish-shaft outside my apartment in Paris. No memory of that at all, except my neighbour was apparently snogging a date on his doorstep at the time. ‘You English, you are all ze same.’
◊♦◊
Tom, I notice, is strangely quiet during this conversation.
I say nothing but Lauchie doesn’t let him get away with it.
‘Tell them’ he says, giving Tom a poke in the ribs.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Is Tom blushing? I’ve never seen Tom blush. It’s a strange justice in life that those people who make a tit of themselves most often tend to blush the least.
‘Tell them!’
‘I wasn’t asleep’ says Tom, frowning at our expectant faces. ‘And it wasn’t a wee.’
Lauchie says fine, he’ll tell us, but within the first few seconds he’s got it wrong so Tom takes over after all.
‘You know I did the City 2 Surf last year?’ Tom’s always doing some road race or other, I can never keep up. ‘Anyway, I’m about half way through and I’m desperate for a… you know. Not a piss. A number two.’ The childish expression makes us all laugh, but not for too long. We want to hear the end of the story. ‘Anyway, I’d just got to that bit at the top of Heartbreak Hill and I really couldn’t wait any longer. There were no toilets in sight and I was desperate, so I ducked out of the race and up one of the side-streets.’
Oh. I’m not sure I want to hear the end of this story after all.
‘Tom, you didn’t!’ I say, but everyone shushes me quiet.
‘Anyway, there’s no-one around so I squat down between two parked cars and go in the gutter. You know, so it’ll wash into the drain next time it rain?’
‘Dude!’ Mikey is clearly disgusted. ‘You’re not in England anymore. That could have been weeks away.’
‘I wait for her to reach us, so she can put the dog on the lead and I can run down to the race but, just as she’s bending down to grab his collar, she sees what’s in the gutter.’
|
Tom ignores him. ‘Anyway, next thing I know there’s this dog, a kind of Alsatian crossed with something hairy. I don’t know where it came from, but it was all over me. It must have thought I was playing or something. He was jumping on my back, licking my face, wagging his big fat tail everywhere. So, quick as, I pull up my shorts – seeing as I’m done – and step onto the pavement. But this dog just follows me, still all over me, and I’m pushing him off, kind of wiping my hands on him at the same, and I’m thinking: if I run down back to the race he’s just going to chase me and, knowing my luck, keep up with me all the way to the finish line. So I’m standing there wondering what to do when I hear this woman coming down the hill, shouting and rushing towards me and the dog. She’s all “Oh, I’m so sorry” and “He’s such a nuisance, such a naughty boy” and “Down, Tyber” or whatever his bleeding name was. I wait for her to reach us, so she can put the dog on the lead and I can run down to the race but, just as she’s bending down to grab his collar, she sees what’s in the gutter.’
‘No!’
We all yell it, leaning back from the table, our beers slopping in our glasses.
‘Oh shit, Tom, what did you say?’
Tom can always be banked on to say the one thing which will make a situation worse.
|
I ask this because Tom can always be banked on to say the one thing which will make a situation worse.
‘I didn’t get a chance to say anything’ he says, taking a dramatically long and luxurious sip of his beer. ‘Before I had a chance she’d apologised again, taken out a plastic bag from her pocket and started picking it up. She carried it off in her handbag.’
I haven’t laughed so much in ages. I’m still laughing about it now. The look of shame on Tom’s face mixed with his obvious pride in keeping the best story till last.
Touché, mate. And don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell a soul.
5 Bad Surfers have more to talk about here.
Photo Credit: Getty Images
Fantastically funny! Just wanted to say, though, that I watched a new release movie either last year or year before that was about a young couple who liked to drink a lot. It was the female character who couldn’t control her nocturnal drunken peeing, doing it in a shop, in bed etc…so maybe it does affect women too! (Sorry I can’t think of the name of the movie)