I will never forget that I absolutely had to end the year with a bang. And a couple of bruises and one rug burn.
I was at home over Christmas break to spend quality time with my family. So what did my mom do? That’s right. Invited the missionaries over for “dinner.” It seems to me that this is what every mother does to her single and pathetic daughter when she comes home from college. Our moms want us to have quality—and safely-monitored—interactions with young men. I think they must forget how awkward missionaries are. Not to mention that missionaries are off-limits. And very, very young.
So, the missionaries came over for New Year’s Eve. I spent most of the time hiding in the shadows playing with the cat. He has one mouse toy that he has not destroyed yet. The other ones are in his hidden stash in the basement: they are missing eyes, tails, noses, bodies, insides, credit cards, etc. Sometimes we even find pieces of mouse toys in the litterbox. But that is a whole ‘nother story. Back to me (like everything should be). So there I was, minding my own business, playing with the cat at the top of the stairs. I was wearing a nice, warm pair of fuzzy, slippery socks that I got for Christmas. The edges of the stairs were worn smooth from years of use (and a clumsy sister). Without thinking, I decided of a sudden to run away from the cat and throw the mouse toy back at him. I grabbed the railing and set my foot on the first step. And then I proceeded to slide down the entire length of the staircase, falling on my…ahem…backside at one point and eventually losing my grip on the handrail.
At the bottom of the stairs sat my parents and the missionaries, watching amusedly. My dear, sweet mother said, “Wow, honey, that was loud. Are you okay?” Like any good awkward person, I quickly stood up and quoted Achmed the Dead Terrorist (one of Jeff Dunham’s hilarious ventriloquist dummies): “I feel fine!” I looked down at my elbow. It looked back up at me. A rug burn the size of my nose screamed: “Couldn’t be any clumsier, could you?!”
A bag of ice miraculously materialized in my mother’s hand, and she placed it on my arm. It apparently did not faze her that the ice magically appeared: she never did ask where it came from. Nor did she care that the rug burn on my arm was screaming. I was a little fazed by it but chose to ignore it so as to…save face in front of the missionaries. Or something like that.
At any rate, it was a great, rainbow-tastic way to end 2008: a beet-red face, an ice-blue arm, bruised-purple cheeks (for lack of a better anatomical term), and government-issue-green one-hundred-dollar bills. Okay, so maybe I just imagined that last part.
How memorable was the last thing you did in 2008?