The one time I wore white pants, I was a senior in high school and it was a big deal for me. Reader, I summoned all my confidence wearing those pants and I didn’t have a lot of confidence to spare.
That day, unbeknownst to me, just so happened to be our drunk driving simulation day…? Yes. That was a thing.
This kid, we’ll call him Dan, was about to step into the golf cart, put on goggles that made you “feel drunk” and drive around in circles. We all know there are no goggles in the world that can make you feel drunk but Dan didn’t drink. We knew this because we threw the parties. He didn’t have his license because he was scared of driving (his words). He was a kind, shy kid who had never been behind the wheel of anything. Queue the foreshadowing.
My good friend, Andrew and I, stepped back because we knew this wouldn’t be good. But Deputy Dave (real name and a real deputy somehow) told us to stand at the line. Like at the line the golf cart drives on.
Reader, I got hit by a golf cart. A bunch of us did. We ran. We swerved. But that golf cart ran faster and swerved harder.
Thankfully, we were all (mostly) okay in the end. Poor Dan felt terrible but it wasn’t his fault (it was Deputy Dave’s) and the real tragedy here… my white pants with the pretty bow, covered in dirt, grass, and blood (my lip was busted pretty badly).
And that was the first and last time I wore white pants.
