From my childhood, but still horribly traumatic:
A stomach virus was going around my school, and I was in second grade at this particular point in time. Just after breakfast, my stomach started to bother me. You know - like those little waves of stomach cramps that can raise chills on your arms? That's what was going on.
I'd just gotten in trouble with my teacher a few days previous for running in the hallway, so I was not allowed to go to the bathroom except during the breaks where the entire class went; she'd deemed me too untrustworthy to be left to my own devices with a hall pass.
The stomach cramps came and went in waves, and I asked her if I could go to the bathroom. She being of the opinion that I was just being my normal (semi-disruptive) self declined the request. More cramps came. Finally, I got up from my desk, grabbed the hall pass, said, "I'm going to barf," and ran from the classroom.
Turns out, I didn't have to "barf", but I did have to have diarrhea. Which I did. And I was wearing windsuit pants, so it kind of just...ran down and collected in the elastic of the legs. I remember all of this very vividly - the windsuit pants were red, and I was wearing a Tweety Bird sweat shirt with them.
My teacher caught up to me and started to steer me back to the classroom before noticing that I smelled of poop. Finally, she realized what had gone on, and I had to stand in the principal's office on one of those plastic drop cloth things and wait for my mother to arrive with a change of pants / underwear and to take me home.
I've never felt so embarrassed in my life as I felt standing in that office with the principal and secretary, reeking of diarrhea, and standing on the plastic.
It really was traumatic.
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It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
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