We all have them.
A story. An experience. A ridiculous and slightly humorous memory that leaves us giggling today. Maybe we wish it could be erased from our consciousness for all eternity. Maybe it explains a lot about why we are the way we are. Maybe we all just need a little comedic relief once in a while—and that’s perfectly fine too.
Share some light stories with us about the ridiculous things you experienced growing up OR that you’ve (ahem) done yourself as an adult.
I’ll go first.
…
For the love…what was my mother thinking when she gave little Korean me a homemade, tight-curled perm at the kitchen sink?
Did I beg her for the perm?
It’s possible.
Was I so cute and irresistibly hard to say no to?
Obviously.
Did I realize after the fact that tight curls on a little, chubby, Korean face did not have the same effect as tight curls on…oh, let’s just say…someone like Sarah Jessica Parker in the early 90’s. Did I realize this after the fact?
I did.
Was I the fully functioning adult in the relationship who should’ve known better?
No, no I was not.
*My mom will deny this ever happened and truth be told, I’ve scoured the photo albums only to come up empty. But who’s to say she didn’t burn the evidence? Feels awfully fishy to me.
…
Dad, where’s my turtle?
“Oh yeah…I saw him walking down the driveway earlier today.”
Are turtles fast?
No, not particularly.
Was there an attempt made to stop my turtle from exiting the premises?
I don’t believe there was.
Did we ever see the turtle again?
No, no we did not.
…
I’m only partially ashamed to admit that little Katie was a nose picker. Yeah, that’s right. I picked my nose and I picked it a lot.
I picked it when I was supposed to be practicing cartwheels in gymnastics, I picked it and hid the evidence behind my mom’s antique chair in the living room (for years by the way and let me tell you…it was like a slew of land mine bomb boogers back there), and I picked it at Dodger stadium while enjoying my dodger dog and chocolate malt ice cream.
In fact, in frustration, my mom told me that if I kept picking my nose, Dodger stadium security would find out and take me to dodger jail, underneath the bleachers.
Did I stop picking my nose?
I mean…no.
Does my mom deny the validity of that story?
She does.
But is it true?
Maybe a better question is—now that I’m a parent, have I said and done similar things to my children both intentionally and unintentionally for good and not-so-good reasons, thus possibly scarring them for life, but actually providing them with good content to write about someday?
I think so.
…
Ok, spill the beans—what’s your ridiculous story?
It can’t possibly be worse than Dodger jail.
