It has been a while since my last post. This is not due to a lack of inspiration – I actually have a sticky note full of topics to blog about – but instead lack of time. I didn’t want to keep my billions of fans waiting anxiously for my next post (and by billions of fans I mean maybe 2 friends who I force to look at my blog) so I decided to start TWO NEW series of posts…
By popular demand, I will now be posting stories from my childhood, and embarrassing moments of my life. If you know me personally, you know that my life is one long sequence of embarrassing moments. This could be a terrible idea, but I decided to make most of these embarrassing stories public so that everyone else can have a good laugh at my expense. Also, my childhood was a joke, so I’ll tell some stories that my oldest friends enjoy. This particular story is a mix of both an embarrassing moment in my life, and my childhood. Here goes:
The fourth grade was the dawn of a new era. I was no longer a novice “primary” student, but I graduated to “intermediate” level. The big dogs. The fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. Elementary school wasn’t a cake walk anymore like the “primary” first, second, and third grades. Intermediate kids were the ones who passed the “Big Kahuna” multiplication test with flying colors and were now moving on to bigger and better things like outdoor school. The ones who gave Student Council speeches that promised soda in the water fountains. The ones who controlled the ins and outs of the four square court.
I remember the last night of summer ’99. I grazed the bark dust below the swing set with my scuffed Mary Janes, as I reminisced on my “primary” years. I turned to my friend Nora and said, “Man. I can’t believe we are going to be “intermediate”. We are getting SOOO old.” I was 10. The future looked bright.
Naturally, with the dawn of a new era, I had to make a statement – a fashion statement, that is. Out with the Mary Janes, in with the backless platform Jack Purcells, which adorned the feet of all cool intermediate kids. Out with the fold-over lacy socks. Out with the elastic-waisted jeans. This was the new millennium!
My mom called me upstairs for a surprise. A plastic T.J Maxx bag waited on the counter for me, daring me to open it. I carefully unfolded the purchase to find (brace yourself) a freshly pressed pair of khaki Capri pants!! Cue hallelujah symphony music.
Now, you may be saying to yourself, “Really? All of that excitement over Capris?” Well. Let me tell you. This was early 2000. Capris were not mainstream yet. They were the next hip fad, and I was about to be the driver of the bandwagon. I was about to be the coolest, best-dressed fourth grader to walk the playground.
The next morning, I strolled into school with confidence. Backless platform Jack Purcells laced up nicely, Glitter bejeweled sweater from Limited Too, Gap Kids visor to match, and of course, those fashionable Capris. I looked pretty damn good. First bell rings, and I already received three compliments on my pants.
The day carries on, and recess rolls around. I take my position on the four square court, when suddenly that familiar feeling lurks up and interferes with my game. I remember someone telling me that if I held my pee too long that my bladder would explode, so I decided it was best to take care of the situation. I calmly found a substitute, and Nora escorted me to the bathroom.
I unzip my fly, no biggie. But suddenly, trouble strikes. The button of the capris will not come undone. I did the nervous pee dance, where you stamp your feet up and down and look to the ceiling and beg for the pee gods to hold your pee for just a few seconds longer.
“What’s the hold up??” Nora asks anxiously. We had a four square game waiting on us.
I start sweating. This button will not come undone! Curse my mother and her bargain shopping!
Panic sets in. The button is literally too big for the hole! Why was it so easy for me to put on the capris but impossible to get that button undone!?
And then it happened. Slowly but surely. That terrible trickle. It ran down my legs, and tainted my Jack Purcells. I was an intermediate kid, and I just peed my pants.
I opened the stall with a defeated frown. Nora stared at the wet spot, wide-eyed.
“Its okay, Kelsey…We will just go to the office and no one will know!”
I dialed my home phone number. Each key burned my fingertips with a tinge of defeat. A few minutes later, while I sat on a parchment paper covered bench, my mom arrived with a fresh pair of clothes and some red licorice because she felt bad for me. There is nothing worse than when your parents pity you for peeing your pants.
“Nora, don’t tell ANYONE what just happened!”
After I had her word, we proceeded to the playground. I tried to act like everything was normal, but it wasn’t. I was ten and I just peed my pants! Intermediate kids didn’t do that. Sheer embarrassment. I was never going to get elected student council president, and my career as a cool fourth grader was ruined. As I approached the four square court with my head down, everyone giggled at me. Nora ended up telling the entire playground. At first I was mad, but then I realized that regardless of her secret keeping, they would have figured it out with my outfit change.
I have never worn Capri pants since…
Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?) I do not have a picture of myself wearing the capris, but the above picture is from my first day of fourth grade. Clearly, my outfit exemplifies my keen eye for fashion…