One day, when I was a college student in Glouster, I decided to travel to the festival at Eidenborough. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong train or something, and would up lost in some village outside of Glouster. I decided to make the most of my situation, and went to a pub.
There, I probably had one too many drinks, and fell into conversation with a bunch of other young people. I mentioned that I was hungry, and they insisted that I come with them to a fine Indian restaurant nearby. I had a delicious dinner, and afterwards they insisted that I spend the night.
I woke up the next morning at 9:30, and realized, "Oh, God, I need to be in Eidenborough in an hour." So I said goodbye, and started running to the train station.
Unfortunately, as I was running, some of the previous night's curry wound up in my trousers. This was most distressing and embarrassing, so I quickly bought a ticket and jumped into the train car in hopes of diving into the nearest lavatory. But, as fortune would have it, I had boarded a particular type of car lacking a lavatory. So I got off at the next stop, and carefully waddled to the nearest clothing store, rapidly bought a pair of jeans my size, and waddled back to catch my train.
This time I carefully chose a car with a lavatory. I closed the lavatory door, ripped off my sullied trousers and undershorts, and without hesitation threw them out the window. Then I ripped open the packaging of my newest purchase, and discovered with horror that I'd bought a jean jacket, not jeans. So there I was, without pants or undershorts in the lavatory of a train heading to Eidenborough.
I made a fantastic kilt out of newspaper, and all my worries were for naught because it blended fabulously into the Eidenborough festival.