Marvin got up the courage to walk across the room and empty out his department store shopping bag. Out of the bulky bag fell the tiniest, flimsiest, most reflective pair of red shorts you've ever seen. Marvin put them and left the room without once looking in the mirror.
Marvin knew he looked good in his tiny red reflective shorts. He knew this because everyone looks good in safety shorts. In the next room he put on his dayglo orange safety vest. He snapped it shut and strode out the door marked EXIT.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by police cars, cops jumping out, shouting, guns drawn, pointed at him, yelling. Marvin froze in his tracks, in his fetching red shorts, his safety vest flapping in the breeze.
Could the flash mob be starting already? It wasn't even noon. He threw on his glittery sunglasses, got into his crouching pose, and began his routine. He noticed the quizzical expressions on the police mens' faces, and suddenly realized no one else was dancing.
What a nightmare. Who organized this flash mob anyway? Oh yeah. He did. And no one responded. Maybe because a flash mob during a police march is a terrible idea. Or maybe because he forgot to tell anyone about it. Either way, his 12th birthday was about to become unforgettable.