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One of the earliest embarrassing memories that I can still recall dates all the way back to my kindergarten days. We'd spend our mornings doing some sort of craft, transition into "quiet time" where we'd all gather on the "reading rug," and then be released out onto the playground like a swarm of mosquitos looking for prey (or fun). Life was so simple back then-- my biggest issues were finding the perfect colored crayon and figuring out how to get the dumb boys to stop chasing us around the playground during recess.

One day, as we were making the daily transition from craft time to reading time, our teacher beckoned each of us to find a comfortable place on the rug near the front of the classroom. Things were going well, I packed up my crayons, tucked my colored pages into my personal cubby, then made my way obediently to the rug. It wasn't until I was sitting on the rug, surrounded by twenty other other five year olds, that this particular embarrassing moment took place.

This is one of those memories that is almost more embarrassing now than it was then. Why? Because of the way I chose to handle the situation. Let me explain.

We'd all been gathered in close proximity for only a few minutes when I began to feel rumbling sensations from "down under" (if you catch my drift). I remember shifting from one position to the next continuously for a solid five minutes in attempts to fix the problem at bay-- but to no avail. I was going to fart in front of all of my classmates and there was not one little thing I could do about it. I raised my hand in a last-ditch effort to ask if I could go to the bathroom, but my teacher had a strict "no bathroom during quiet time" policy, unfortunately. I was stranded. Right smack dab in the middle of the crowd.

I clenched every muscle in my body because I thought for some reason that it would help-- it didn't. Halfway through the book my teacher was reading, just as she was turning the page (meaning the classroom was as close to silent as it could possibly be, being filled to the brim with five year olds), a toot slipped right out of me as audible and noticeable as it could have possibly been. A ripple of giggles erupted around me and I felt my cheeks begin to burn red... but almost as instantly as I felt the embarrassment coming on, I concocted an evil plan to escape it.

I quickly turned to the poor boy sitting next to me with an overly-dramatic, disgusted expression slapped across my face and exclaimed, "Um... EW?!" as I simultaneously began to scoot as far away as I possibly could within the cramped confines of the over-populated reading rug. My peers began to do the same. Soon, that poor boy was isolated by a whole foot and a half of empty space on every side of him. Our teacher wore a stern expression upon her face, warning us to cease giggling immediately and to stop being so immature-- little did she know JUST how immature I was being.

I used to feel pretty proud of my near-disastrous escape of a really awkward and embarrassing situation, but now as I look back, I just feel really, really bad about blaming my bodily function on a poor, innocent bystander. That boy moved away the summer after kindergarten and I never did get a chance to say sorry to him. I guess I'll just live out all of my days wearing the guilt of my decision to pin my fart on his poor, innocent little self (insert laughing emoji here). 

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