Remember The End Of The World?

[shereads]

Can I have your dog?

Yes, if you can pry my charred femur out of her jaws.

You're not a virgin, are you?

Sometimes, yes.

 

[shereads]

Re: My Truncated Modesty

I was five years old, and we were leaving on our summer vacation to a lakeside cottage. My father was getting ready to load up the car, and I was being his caboose.

After clearing out all the junk from the trunk and jettisoning it into the garage, my father topped up the oil, before backing the car out of the garage.

For something to do, while Dad was working on the engine, I crawled into the trunk.

Not having heard from me for several minutes, my father got behind the wheel, and backed the car out of the garage, to park it conveniently beside the side door, where all the suitcases and other paraphernalia could be arranged and checked, before packing them away in the trunk.

You must know that the contractor who built the garage and the one who paved the driveway (apparently) were not speaking to each other. As a result, there was a two-inch drop from the lip of the garage onto the driveway.

As Dad started the car and put it into reverse, I grabbed the sides of the trunk, to steady myself. The rear wheels dropped those two inches, and the trunk lid slammed down of my fingers.

At first, I yelled!

Over the sound of the motor, from the front seat of the car, my father did not hear me. Sometimes I howled. Sometimes I was silent. If I yelled while they were near, my parents were too busy running in and out of the house carrying the luggage, to hear my voice muffed by the trunk lid.

Eventually, they realized that I had wandered off, again.

My mother was all for stopping, and searching me out, before I wandered too far away. She began telephoning the parents of my neighbourhood friends.

Luckily, my father decided to keep on loading the trunk. Just before he opened the lid, he noticed about a quarter of an inch of chubby pink finger tips sticking out from the foam gaskets between the trunk and its lid.

We later calculated that I must have been trapped inside the trunk for about half an hour.

Long before we reached the cottage, and I saw the lake, I had forgotten my experience, but to this day, I remain a bit of an exhibitionist. I prefer that people always notice exactly where I am at ––– and I am far more comfortable with no restrictions or constraints.

Thanks Virtual. That end of the world made me smile - but only after I realized it couldn't end with you dying in the trunk. I can sleep now.

The worst childhood dumbness tale I know is my brother-in-law's. He and his brother decided to drive their dad's new car. He was 12. Got it in reverse and backed it out of the garage and into the street, but couldn't get it out of reverse and kept backing around their neighborhood, being dodged by other traffic, until they finally stopped the car by backing it into a neighbor's closed garage door.

I asked him why they kept giving the car gas when they could have just coasted to a stop, and he looked at me as if only a woman would ask a question like that.



Made me feel a lot better about the horse barn in the rattan. But I still haven't forgiven that little creep who turned me in.

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Yes, if you can pry my charred femur out of her jaws.

How does she feel about Beggin' Strips? Or REAL bacon?

Sometimes, yes.

Which times? Or is this poll material?

~lucky