Birthday Clown Hell

Back in my college days, I tried my hand at picking up a few dollars by entertaining as a birthday party clown. My outfit was home made, and designed to project the image of a hobo clown. All the normal pitfalls were quickly experienced, like kids trying to pull off the clown nose, fending off juvenile fists that tried to use me like a punching bag made of rubber, chaos and mayhem upon each one of my arrivals. Still, despite the beatings and abuse, I was determined to excel at my craft.

Part of my outfit was a tattered, long wool coat, which worked well for quite some time, until summer arrived. I attended a party that was held in the backyard out on the lawn. It was a blazing hot day of 90 plus degrees, and I was performing my vigorous act out in the yard with no shade, wearing my wool coat. I was running from the children, tumbling, and cavorting to keep the frenzied kids happy, and give them a party to remember. To put it delicately, the conditions were