"You win, Marc," was all he said. That was enough. I heard those words in my head the entire day, while I sat in class looking like the world's biggest dirt pile, and Bowen beamed like a million dollars in his new threads.

Mooning was a great sport, even if I only did it once. Nobody ever got hurt. You didn't have to be in shape to play. The fatter you were the more you brought to the window. I'm still not sure why it was such a thrill to make somebody look at our naked butts. Unfortunately, any time you mooned someone, you were also open to retaliation. Yes, it's funny to moon, but it's not so funny if it happens when you're with your mother.

Once, when I was in the ninth grade, I remember riding home from gymnastics training with my mum, when I looked over to see a bunch of guys drive past with a pressed ham against the passenger's window. Thank God my mum hadn't worn her good glasses.

The worst arse was possessed by Daniel Hass. His was an arse you just didn't want to look at. Put it this way: Daniel was a hairy guy. You've all been to the zoo. You've seen baboons with the same sort of problem. If a nine-year-old had ever seen Hass he'd have thought, "God, if that ever happens to me, somebody please shoot me."