When I was fourteen my parents bought me a onesie ski suit. They got it big so I wouldn't grow out of it. It went out of fashion thirteen years ago, but it still fits. I also still love it. This past weekend I skied in my onesie and our trip leader, a guy in his fifties, did too. As I face my second day of being the only person since 1998 to wear a onesie, I remark to my new found friends,
"Our trip leader is wearing a onesie."
"Yes, but he is of a different generation."
I guess pointing out the three-year-old I saw in a onesie isn't going to help either.
Another friend pipes up,
"You know what they call those things?"
"What?"
"I shouldn't say, it's not nice."
"Tell me."
"Fart bags."
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