The boy who wore a dress to the zoo

As a child, I feared not the boogeyman, nor the dark, for me they were easily conquered. No, for me true fear struck in the form of road trips. There was little I feared more than getting in and staying in that mobile, stuffy, and often crowded closet for more than short amounts of time. This fear was only multiplied by my generally negative disposition and tendency to get motion sick extremely easily. These terrible ingredients stirred and boiled at the proper temperature for the correct amount of time produce a porridge Goldilocks wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. This is not to say I didn’t suffer through a road trip here and there for a trip to the Nashville zoo or Atlanta Aquarium.

One such trip to the Birmingham zoo started innocently enough; there was a shortage of children attending this trip, affording us the opportunity to fold down the middle seat of the shiny silver minivan to stage elaborate battles for the freedom of the Green Army. Ever the underdog, always horribly outnumbered, yet still undefeated in battle, the Green Army put on show after show of determination and grit in the face of the tyranny posed by the Tan menace. The terrible Tan army, scorned by all good, truth-loving communist-hating American boys, were dealt horrific defeat after horrific defeat by the Green Army. These bloody skirmishes entertained me just fine for the better part of the trip, my mind too occupied with the lives I held in my hand to think about the potential throw-up I held in my stomach.

As we drew nearer to our destination though, my eyes were called into service to search for the exit sign. It started as a mere slight churning, but soon I was asking if we could pull over. Then begging. My cries, however, fell on deaf ears as I was informed that “We’re almost there, you’ll be fine for a few more minutes!” The minutes felt like hours as we drew closer and closer to the zoo, where I would be granted sweet relief from my pain.

We had finally crested the final hill and pulled into the parking lot when suddenly I could no longer hold it. Within moments I was not only drenched in a mixture of what used to be 6 chicken Mc-nuggets and a medium sprite (supposedly good for upset stomachs), but so was the entire seat in front of me. After a few moments of horrified staring followed by frenzied crying, we decided that the best course of action was to send one or more members of our group into the gift shop to explore the possibility of purchasing new clothes for me so that our journey could continue.

“Pardon me sir, do you sell clothing here, pants and shirts?” my faithful friend Steven asked the clerk. “Well, no pants, but we do have a line of zoo Birmingham zoo themed t-shirts over there. What size were you looking for?” the clerk answered. “No pants? We’ll have one extra-large, sir.”