You Wet the Bed Once, and Nobody Forgets it!

Granted, I was 34 years old.  It was on a raft trip, a very remote raft trip.  No access to washing machines, fresh bedding, or even clean underwear.  It was a borrowed sleeping bag.  Still, What the Almighty Heck, People???
It must've been nerves.  We were rafting the Selway River in April.  The Selway in April is notoriously unpredictable.  One day it's a docile Class II/III, and in a span of less than 12 hours it is a Class V, your boats are swept away in the middle of the night, and your only option is to hunker down in bear country until the river subsides (which could be June), or run it with whatever watercraft you have left.
Our crew opted to run it.  They were experienced, competent boaters.  I was not. 
I went to bed the second night, sober and dry. 
I dreamt of my office job, specifically of my office restroom, the restroom which had a toilet seat you could actually sit on as opposed to a splintery piece of plywood with a hole cut in it, which you positioned your hoo-hah over and tried not to think of outhouse-dwelling-spiders. 
The restroom seat was smooth, comfortable, and welcoming.  Not unlike the lining of my friend's sleeping bag.
I walked in, closed the door, sat down, and...
OH MY GOD!!!!
I woke up midstream. 
Ever tried to, you know, dam 'er up?  Close the gates?  Screw the clamps down?  Restrict the flow?  Abort the mission?  (Side note: have you ever done an internet search for euphemisms for urination?)
The only feeling worse than waking up in the bed you peed, is waking up in the bed you are still peeing.  Had I not already been emptying my bladder, the shock of the entire situation could have caused me to wet myself.  But, I sort of had that covered. 
We had two more nights left on the trip.  I had zero changes of clothes left.  I also ended the trip with zero friends willing to loan me sleeping bags (or clothing). 
I have a hard time stopping myself once I've committed to peeing.  Oddly enough, I have the same lack of self-control when it comes to spewing incriminating and embarrassing stories about myself.  Thus, the bed-wetting story was leaked. 
And I got an email today from a friend so enamored with the story that he's shared it numerous times, and introduces me to people as "the Sleeping Bag Incident Teresa".  He must be concerned that people may confuse me with other Teresas, like "the Gourmet Cook Teresa" or "The Proposed-To-On-A-Hayride Teresa" or "The Chainsaw Juggling Teresa".  A common mistake, I'm sure.
So, there it is, my big, dark, non-secret.  My yellow letter U that I have to wear on my chest. 
I might as well just go with it.  You know, once a story like that is leaked, it's pretty hard to stop it.