When I entered basic training for the Air Force in 1958, I was kind of standard-size. When we were issued our clothing allotment, not all clothing was available. I was only issued fatigues, shoes, boots and class-B shirts.
A few days later, after a half-day of training we were told to fall in to the barracks and fall out in a class-B uniform. All I had was a class-B shirt. Panic!
Fortunately the man next to me had an extra set of Bermuda shorts, which could suffice for a class-B uniform. Unfortunately, he was about a foot taller than me. Oh, well, any port in a storm. I dressed and fell out wearing the shorts almost to my ankles and the ubiquitous pith helmet.
As we stood in formation, I heard what no boot wants to hear: my name being called.
"Airman, get over here."
I walked over and stood at attention.
The sergeant and his assistant looked me over.
"Tell me, boy, what is the difference between Bermuda shorts and pedal pushers?" the sergeant said.
"Sir, Bermuda shorts come above your knees and pedal pushers come below your knees," I said.
"And what are you wearing?" he asked.
"Bermuda shorts," I said.
"No, you're not, you idiot," he said. "You are wearing pedal pushers, and little girls wear pedal pushers," whereupon he drove my pith helmet with one blow down over my ears.
The entire flight erupted in laughter while I stood there looking like one of the three stooges. It is funny to me now, but I saw no humor in it then.