Halloween’s pretty cool...until nature calls
Updated Oct 31, 2015 at 12:46 AM
I never was one to put a lot of stock in those folks who would say Halloween was the Devil’s holiday. You know, it was that little old lady at church who opposed the trunk or treat or that odd aunt who insisted you call her “auntie.”
Seems to me, anyone who embraces Halloween as the Devil’s holiday probably has a little too much affection for the evil one, anyway. As they say, it only takes one bad egg…
So here it is Halloween again, and even at nearly 40 years old, it still brings a certain amount of excitement. At this point in my life, I get to live vicariously through my children without having to get all gussied up. The costumes of my youth generally stunk anyway. Except, that is, for this one year.
Every year of my elementary school career, there was always a Halloween carnival. My mom would always take me, and I knew it was time to go when I’d made the lap around the old gym playing the fishing game, looping the cake walk and becoming so frightened I thought I might not ever sleep after a trip through the haunted house.
One year in particular, I think I was in first grade, my mom – a proverbial sewing genius – made me this killer one-piece purple polyester spaceman suit, complete with matching fabric helmet and cape. It was awesome, trimmed in yellow.
So things were going great. Other parents were jealous. All my buddies were jealous. I’m walking around slo-mo-style. If there had been a costume contest, this guy would have won it.
Then, nature came a calling. I went into the bathroom and immediately emerged to explain to my mother that, in her infinite wisdom, forgot a key accessory to this gem of a costume…the fly.
So my mom accompanied me back into the bathroom where we attempted to create enough access so I could go. And as a young man, the urge was overwhelming.
For some reason I cannot recall, the costume would barely come down past my waist, so access was there, but significantly limited.
In case you’re wondering at this point, this story gets tough to tell without some graphic language, so reader beware.
So I’m going at this point, and despite the arch from the constraints of the costume around my waist, things seemed to be going pretty good from my perspective.
It was at this point my mom apparently took stock of the scene in her mind and began to laugh rather uncontrollably. And, as they say, laughter is contagious, so I started laughing. Things kind of snowballed after that.
The constant arching stream began to intensify and more resembled a sprinkler with every chuckle at this point. To make matters worse, I must have really had to go, because this trip to the bathroom seemingly lasted for an eternity.
Finally my young bladder was empty. It was over, but the damage was done. I was wet, mom was wet, and all we could do was laugh. We did our best to clean ourselves up before we made a beeline to the exit before anyone noticed.
So as I tell this story, which hasn’t been told but to a few close friends and family members until now, please heed this warning. A killer Halloween costume is great, but nothing puts a damper on a good time faster than limited access to the bathroom.
Jared Felkins had Elton John’s Rocketman running through his head as he wrote this column, and likely now you do too. He’s also the editor of The Democrat. Email him at email@example.com and follow him on Twitter @paperboyfelkins.