My favorite words are Tomfoolery and Flibbertigibbet – not because they describe me, but because it’s hard to say them without smiling.
I have the privilege of sharing my life with two fantastic, quirky dogs named Petey and Nelson. Petey (the oldest, bigger dog) is the kind of dog who seems underwhelmed by the world around him. He is content with lounging on the couch all day, chewing a bone, and getting a good massage. Nelson, on the other hand, is the playful jester with an unbridled enthusiasm for life and love. He doesn’t walk, he prances. In other words, my dogs are the walking personifications of Tigger and Eeyore. My Yin-Yang twins.
When I was a teenager, I caught a cold on the flight to Hawaii. I felt miserable and missed out on a lot of cool things almost the entire time we were there. Finally, I decided to go snorkeling with my brother. It was great until I saw the clear, slimy tentacles a giant jellyfish. I swam as fast as I could, but it kept up with me. My heart was racing and I was convinced that I would be stung until I realized that the slimy tentacles were actually just snot streaming out of my nose and wrapping around me. It was so gross.
I have terrible night vision and a dark, vivid imagination. As a result, I am afraid of the dark.
I am a feminist and I am disappointed that some people see that as a bad and/or extreme thing.
When I’m not wearing my glasses or contacts, I am the equivalent of Mr. Magoo on acid.
I have no tonsils. They were removed when I was in Elementary school. Before the doctor operated he told me that there was a chance I could die during the surgery. I was convinced I would and told all of my classmates. A few of them wrote me goodbye letters.
When I was eight, my mother dropped me off at a McDonalds with my older sister, Erin, while she ran some errands. We were pretty young, and Erin left me for a second to use the bathroom while I was in line. Right before I got to the register, a creepy man who was in front of me sprayed me on the hand with something and told me to tell my friends about it. Everyone in line behind me started yelling at him to leave me alone and get out of the restaurant. He left and the lady behind the counter yelled at me to never talk to strangers, even though I had never said a word to him. My mom came in and I was hysterical. She scrubbed my hand in the bathroom until it was red and sore. On the drive home, she informed me that it could have been poison or drugs. I was convinced that I wouldn’t make it through the night. For the rest of my life, I will always wonder what he sprayed on me.
I failed Home Making in 5th grade because I burned a boy’s hand with hot caramel while making lollipops, imploded our cake, dropped a whole bowl of pasta all over the floor, made muffins that were the equivalent of eating concrete, and accidentally added more salt in place of sugar in our cookies. To this day I am afraid of cooking for other people.
I love eating and as a result, I will never be thin. I’ve accepted this fact.
I have a flat spot on the back of my skull that is the perfect size for balancing a can of soda. I may have been dropped on my head as a child, but no one will confess.
I am a recovering hypochondriac, but I feel like I’m coming down with something serious right now.