As a young lad my mom had trouble potty training me. She noted my love of Spider-Man, a love that continues to this very day, and promised that I shall become the owner of a pair of Spider-Man underoos if I would use the potty. Needless to say this was just the incentive that a boy such as myself needed.
I quickly worked on potty training day and night. The stress of the training was intense. I remember several times when the urge came and I would take off towards the bathroom in such a rush that could only be described as half pee pee dance half mad run. My eyes on the prize the entire time.
Then the day came when I had finally achieved my goal. I was potty trained, and I proudly paraded around the house in my Spider-Man underoos.
Then the unthinkable happened. There I was wearing nothing but my Spider-Man underoos, and the urge hit me from out of nowhere. I remember it happened so fast that I lost my footing and fell on the floor. By the time I had come to my senses, it was to late. I pee peed on Spider-Man.
I ran to my Dad, and with the shock of what had happed still fresh in my mind, I screamed out “I pee peed on Spider-Man! I pee peed on Spider-Man!” Tears ran down my small face like rain, and the guilt of what I had done to my hero was unbearable.
It has haunted me to this very day. I pee peed on Spider-Man. I pee peed on Spider-Man.