A generic adult female gets scared out of her last remaining wits.
Did you sleep well, my pretties? How many spiders did we dispatch of since I told you the truth about them?
But I promised I would tell one more scary story, a recollection of an event so terrifying that I almost can’t handle the retelling.
Scarier than the three times I got lost at the Minnesota State Fair as a young lady.
Scarier than my encounter with the man who invited me to go get pizza and instead he drove me to his apartment to show me his red satin sheets, hint hint. And I almost didn’t get away.
Scarier than the Halloween night that my best friend’s brother chased us as we went trick-or-treating so he could steal our candy. Thank goodness my best friend wasn’t scared; she whacked him silly with her cane (she was an old lady for Halloween).
Scarier than watching a dastardly movie called “The Cube” and not being able to sleep that night AT ALL.
Scarier than thinking my husband was having a seizure, calling the paramedics, and spending three days in the hospital by his side. Thank goodness it was concussion-related, concussions he had suffered the day before trying to prove his manliness by playing softball like he was 20, when in reality, he is more than twice that. He’s fine now, but I never want to go through that again. In fact, when he even considered playing softball again, I told him that should he rack up another concussion, I would not even visit him in the hospital.
That’s right, sisters, the scariest event in all my life occurred just over a week ago—I had to drive through the high school parking lot just as school was getting out so I could pick up my daughter and drive her to work. My life flashed before my eyes as I had to try to navigate the teenage-driver-infested asphalt of Podunk High. I narrowly escaped being run over by several cars whose rusting outer shells were held together by goth band decals. And nearly side-swiped by giant pick-up trucks loaded with testosterone and steroids. And little tiny peppy creatures with blindingly white teeth and carrying pompons would dash out from between cars and flit carelessly across the path of my trembling minivan and I would have to brake furiously to avoid hitting them. My heart was pounding so loud it drowned out the Eminem lyrics from the car behind me—I swear that car was stalking me through the lot. It was pure mayhem.
After that hellacious trial of my courage and will to live, I went home and shivered for hours. The fear still lingers, and every time I pass by the high school, I shudder to think of the horrors I experienced, not the least of which was SEEING MY 9TH GRADE DAUGHTER ENJOYING A PLEASANT CONVERSATION AND SWAPPING FLIRTATIONS WITH A SENIOR BOY SPORTING DREADLOCKS AND GIANT MUSCLES!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Oh that is an awful story. Makes me down right appreciate hearing "why" come out of my four year olds mouth for the four-hundred-and-sixty-seven-thousandth time today. I guess I should just lock her in a closet now.
Posted by: Lisa | 19 October 2004 at 07:37 PM
Oops, that probably needed an emoticon. I will not be locking my four-year-old in a closet for the next fourteen years. Sorry if I scared you.
Posted by: Lisa | 19 October 2004 at 07:38 PM
I've thought of doing that many a time to my daughters. "Stay little and innocent!" I tell them, but they don't listen.
Posted by: GAF | 20 October 2004 at 06:15 AM