A MEMOIR

Naked and Afraid in a Bouncy Castle

A true story of survival

Kristine Laco
The Memoirist
Published in
4 min readMar 22, 2022

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I could not show an actual photo without going to jail. Photo by Lukas from Pexels

Bouncy castles evoke fond memories for most of us. Birthday parties, minor concussions, trauma. You know — good times. So many bounces, so few dry undies.

There was one bouncy castle event indelibly etched in my memory. It was clothing optional and not as much fun as you might think.

I was invited to bring our children to a friend’s house for a free-for-all kid party. It was a typical Toronto summer day with relative humidity so high you could taste the air.

It tasted like hot hockey equipment.

We arrived and the party was in full swing. My kids raced to the castle and I watched them remove their shoes before I circulated with the adults. The grown-ups were gathered around the one postage stamp area of shade afforded by the poplar tree, making it very popular indeed.

Sure, it might have been beside the cooler of white wine, but that was irrelevant.

My kids were gone no more than 90 seconds when they both returned to share my shade. They were wearing their shoes again.

“What’s up? Too hot?” I asked in a squeaky high-pitched voice reserved for children disturbing their mother while she was trying not to be disturbed.

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Kristine Laco
The Memoirist

My middle finger is my favorite. Satire is my jam. Don’t follow if Laco-intolerant. BE COOL--SUBSCRIBE TO MY NEWSLETTER eepurl.com/hqpXiv