298. Underwear Icon
I was five years old, and it was Halloween.
I think my parents were relieved that I wanted to be a ghost. The costume was simple. A white sheet with two eyeholes cut out. Easy-peasy. And when I learned that I could wear it to school on Halloween, I was overjoyed. But, as is the case with most incredibly handsome and exceptionally smart children, I was a bit stubborn. I insisted –– absolutely insisted -- that I ONLY wear the sheet. I wanted to be naked underneath. Ghosts were ghosts. They didn't need clothes. Or so my argument went.
In the end, my mother relented and let me go in just the sheet, as long as I at least wore underwear. Kindergarten was only half-day, after all. And so I did. The pair I chose that day were light gray and decorated with characters from He-Man and The Masters of the Universe.
And so I went to school, wearing only a pair of gray He-Man underpants and a white ghost sheet.
And it was glorious.
Until story time.
All of the children in my class sat quietly around our teacher, as he read a classic Halloween book aloud. I can't remember what story it was because I was slightly preoccupied. My stomach had started to growl. And, like most incredibly handsome and exceptionally smart children my age would have, I farted without much forethought.
Except it wasn't a fart.
It was a wet fart.
And I had gone to school wearing only a pair of gray He-Man underpants and a white ghost sheet.