Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Skin I'm In

Long, long ago, back when I was about 4 years old, I had a crush on a boy who worked at my dad's service station. His name was Mike. I don't remember much about Mike or why I had a crush on him at all (and of course he didn't know I had a crush on him, because that would have been embarrassing!) but I do remember that he was 18 and was friends with my brothers.

That Thanksgiving, he happened to be at our house. He and my dad and brothers were in the living room talking and laughing - probably watching football on t.v.- and my mom and sister were in the kitchen making Thanksgiving dinner. We were in the heart of Utah in the early 70's, could it be any other way? ;)

On that day, I was wearing some terrible, homemade, terry cloth underwear. They were my most disliked pair because they required me to get help pulling them up - I'm not sure if they were too snug or what, but it was impossible for me to get them on by myself. Little did I know when I put them on that morning, my happiness of the day hinged on those panties.

Back in those days, my family lived in a brick rambler, so the kitchen, dining room, living room, and hallway made a great circle for running around if someone was chasing me or riding my tricycle or inchworm around if I was just playing by myself.

Okay, so it happened: I had gone potty and needed someone to help me pull up my undies. Since Mike and the boys were in the living room, I went into the kitchen to ask my mom or sister, Debbie, for help. My mom was up to her elbows in stuffing or something, and Debbie was busy helping. "Go have your Dad help you," was my mom's advice.

One problem: was he on the end closest to the hallway or the side closest to the front door? I could get to the living room from either direction, I just wanted to get it right, because, after all, I did not want Mike seeing my bare bottom.

I was told he was on the couch, so that would mean closest to the front door, so I crept into the living room, really just far enough to poke my head in. My dad was at the other end in his chair by the hallway. My mom had been wrong. Mike was sitting where I thought my dad had been. All of the men in the room looked in my direction as I entered the room, saw my position... and laughed.

I don't remember much about what happened after that, other than I think I spent most of the day in my bedroom because I was humiliated.

Later on, after dinner was over and company was gone, I was alone in the living room. I decided to listen to music to make myself feel better. I picked up my records and my shame returned when I saw the title of one of my Sesame Street records: "The Skin I'm In". I don't know that I ever listened to that song again as a kid.

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