Hm, something told me yesterday's runs weren't over yet.
'Eeuwh!' he cried. 'I don't wanna wear my pants anymore, I don't wanna wear my pants anymore!'
I couldn't really blame him, but in the name of public decency I said in soothing tones: 'Never mind Piet. Just pull your pants up, and we'll go home and get you some clean ones.'
Piet thought about it for a minute, looked at his brown stain and then declared firmly: 'No!'
What to do?
There I was, with four children who had to be in school within the next ten minutes, on the sidewalk . Twelve years of motherhood have rendered me too weary to mind indecent exposure so I simply said: 'Jan, Teuntje en Ot, you three go to school, and I'll take Piet home.'
I tried one more: 'Piet, pull your pants up!' but even some giggling schoolgirls 'Ooh, look at that!' couldn't sway Piet to cover himself.
So I took his little hand in mine and we shuffled home together, because with your pants around your ankles you can't take very big steps. I was dressed in my running clothes because I was planning to run straight from school into the world for a long run. But with a sick child a mother doesn't get very far.
'Oh well,' I said to myself: 'At least I got to experience Piets Runs.'
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