Thursday, March 18, 2010
FEATURED POST by Angela Chien
As you may have noticed, I have been in a funk about blogging. While I continue, as I always do, to rack up moron tax upon moron tax, I haven't lately been inspired to write about it. Not less than 10 minutes ago I dropped a 1 lb metal tape measure on my toe while trying to measure my fireplace mantle. Even though I hopped around on one foot for at least 10 seconds and cursed out-loud to my mother, who was listening to the whole debacle over the phone, I didn't see much humor in it.
Thank goodness for Angela. She sent me this precious nugget to cheer me up. It gave me a good, well needed laugh. Her story reminds me that though our personal foibles may vex us, they eventually compost into great stories.
Saying Goodbye to Teeth
When I was little, about five or six years old, we lived in Houston, and we had a very smooth marble foyer. We also had a yellow sponge that was printed and cut in the shape of Ronald McDonald. These two facts would be unrelated in any household but ours.
I was running around with this sponge one evening, and my mom was on the phone, keeping one eye on me, because who knew what kind of trouble I'd get myself into with nothing but a sponge. It was a dry sponge, quite dry. I squeezed it to make sure it was dry, but apparently, Ronald McDonald sponges are deceptive, as a little bit of water came out onto the marble floor.
I looked at the water and thought, "Ooh, someone might slip on that if I leave it there, I should wipe it up." I didn't want to use the sponge to wipe it up, since I had just removed the water from the sponge, but I knew I'd get in trouble if I left the puddle there. So I decided to wipe it up.
With my socks.
That I was wearing.
By dancing on the puddle.
I am not a coordinated person now, and I was not a coordinated person then, so do the math:
Uncoordinated kid + socks + dancing + puddle + marble floor = ?
I landed on my face, and was soon bleeding all over the marble floor. My mom got off the phone and ran over, then grabbed me and my sister, threw us in the car (my sister was very upset because she had a book report due the next day), and drove to the ER.
When the baby tooth that I landed on eventually fell out, it looked kind of grey, and had apparently suffered some damage, for which I blame Ronald McDonald and his evil sponge twin.
Ronald was not to blame, however, when almost fifteen years later, I chipped the adult tooth that replaced that baby tooth on my college roommate's forehead. That one was her fault.