Junior High school was a tough time for me as a short chubby weiner kid with glasses in a world of 6'2" 12 year olds and 8th graders with moustaches that would put Tom Selleck to shame.
One day was particularly bad for my already flimsy ego. Everything seemed very normal after I got up in the morning. I got up, pretended to take a shower so y mom wouldn't yell at me and say kids wont like me if I smell, had some Crispix and headed to school. Things took a disturbing turn during 2nd period however.
I was sitting in English class trying not to get an erection from the girl sitting next to me and I got an itch on my shoulder. I reached under my shirt to scratch it and immediately noticed something strange. There was something under my shirt. I tried to remove it but it was stuck. I continued to feel around and then froze in terror as I realized that this foreign object was a shoulder pad. Horror-stricken, I slowly brought my hand back to my desk as one thought kept replaying over and over in my head. "Oh my god I am wearing my mom's shirt!!!"
My mind quickly spiraled into a black pit of shame and embarrassment. How could I have not known it was my mom's shirt?! I should have realized something was wrong when my 45 pound backpack felt way less uncomfortable than usual. Had I been able to keep myself calm, I would have asked for the bathroom pass and tore the strangely comfortable pads out and been rid of this problem, but I am an eternal dumbass and this did not happen.
Before I could collect my thoughts, the period ended and I had to make it to the next class without any of the marauding behemoths in the hallways noticing my more imposing stature. I successfully made it through two more classes and headed to lunch. My plan was to fix this all at lunch. I could run to the bathroom and make the proper adjustments. I thought I was in the clear when the worst possible thing happened.
My friend came up behind me and in a very neighborly gesture put his hand on my shoulder to do so. I barely managed to keep my sphincter clenched as I felt his palm land on my cushioned shoulder. I felt him feel around with his hand to determine what the hell was going on under there. A few seconds turned into an eternity as I waited for something horrible to inevitably leave his mouth. "What the hell are you wearing shoulder pads for," he asked me. I couldn't even get a word out. I stuttered and stammered and laughed nervously for a good 20 seconds. I sounded like a confused and terrified hyena. It was too late. Other people had come over and noticed something was going on. "Ryan is wearing shoulder pads," he told my friends who had gathered around.
At this point I was in full red alert panic mode. The adrenaline was rushing all over my body as my brain instinctively prepared to save me from this situation. Unfortunately my brain is a defective piece of shit, and what it made me say haunted me for a long while.
"It's not really my shirt! It's my mom's!"
I really don't need to tell you what happened after that, I hope.
This is why for a very long time I was known as "Mom Shoulders"