I’m sure we all had our share of embarrassing moments growing up. Most of mine will remain buried forever, and this one probably should too.

However, I’ve decided to tell you the story of “My Grandmother’s New Sofa” as a testimony to humiliating stories everywhere, and a reminder that whatever your embarrassing story may be, it probably isn’t as bad as this one.

The tale begins on a Sunday afternoon at my grandparents’ home sometime in the early 60’s. Sunday afternoons existed for two reasons in those days; unwelcome visits from distant relatives, and napping. Following a rather large meal of southern favorites smothered in gravy and washed down with more gravy, we chose the latter.

Most of the family settled in the spacious living room in front of what today would be considered a small black-and-white TV, and before long there wasn’t an open eye in the room.

Please understand that I was a mere tot in those days, so it was probably considered odd that I was sleeping right along with seasoned veterans instead of outside playing somewhere. But even my older brother couldn’t fight the sandman that day, and he was there as well.

I had never suffered from episodes of sleepwalking before, to my knowledge. So what happened that afternoon during my nap came as a total surprise to me, and certainly to the rest of my family including a visiting uncle from Washington, D.C.

At some point during my slumber, nature called. I rose, walked into the bathroom, lifted the lid of the toilet, and proceeded do what came naturally.

Only I wasn’t in the bathroom. I was still in my grandparents’ living room. The lid I lifted was a cushion on my grandmother’s favorite couch, and I was in full song, relieving myself in front of a soon to be shocked audience.

The uncle from Washington D.C. was the first to spot my social faux pas. Within moments, there was a loud scream, followed by the gasps of a room full of startled relatives.

Witnesses tell me that, still in a stupor, I didn’t awaken until my efforts to find the handle proved futile. Couches don’t come with flush handles.

There was nothing anyone could do. The deed was done and the couch was ruined.

It strikes me as odd to this day that, in spite of the fact that the room was full of dozing relatives, the couch was unoccupied – or maybe more appropriately, “unoccupeed”.   That is probably a good thing. I doubt it would’ve made much difference. The somnambulist knows no boundaries.

I don’t recall much of the aftermath of that incident. It was many years ago, and we block out things we really don’t want to remember, don’t we.

I do recall that a short time later, my grandmother was in possession of a brand new lovely burgundy couch that served her well for many years. Before long in fact, her entire living room was redecorated with new furniture, carpet, a new cabinet stereo system, and even a new Zenith TV. It was still black-and-white, but it was new.

So I like to think I may have been the catalyst for positive change in my grandparents’ household in the 1960’s, but since they never officially thanked me, I’m not really sure.

I only know that from that moment forward, whenever I announced that I was getting sleepy, I was watched carefully.