Hello loyal so-and-sos! Today I’m going to share some funny stories with you that are just a little bit too short to warrant their own blog posts. Think of it as “hilarious anecdote crudité.” One story probably won’t fill you up, but if you cram a whole bunch of them in your face, you’ll be all good.
story #1: the earwig
I almost ate an earwig this summer.
I’m assuming you’ve seen these plastic Starbucks tumblers before. They’re dishwasher safe, they come with sturdy green straws that you can wash out and reuse, and let’s face it, they’re absolutely adorable.
My plastic Starbucks tumbler lives in my kitchen cabinet, which is where it was on that fateful day in late June. The weather was boiling hot, my mouth was a dry as a bone, and I had THE THIRST. Nothing but a 20-oz. glass of iced tea would do.
So I brought out the tumbler, filled it up, inserted the reusable straw, and screwed on the lid. Then I took my first sip.
Which is when IT happened.
I’ve given this a lot of thought, and the best explanation I can come up with is that at some point, an earwig out on its morning constitutional thought to itself: “I’m tired. Why not crawl into this sturdy green straw and die?” Because crawl into the straw and die it had. And when I took that first sip of what should have been a cool, refreshing glass of iced tea, a decaying earwig corpse slid right up the straw and into my mouth.
At which point I thought it was a piece of crushed ice and BIT DOWN ON IT.
When the alleged piece of crushed ice was not hard and crunchy like ice, but soft and “whatever the fuck this is, it shouldn’t be in my drink” like an earwig, I spit it out into the sink, saw what it was, and gagged forever.
Eventually I managed to collect myself, rinse my mouth out with cold water, and join the land of the people who had not just almost eaten earwigs. I then proceeded to march around the house for two hours impressing upon my family just how traumatized I was. BECAUSE EARWIG. IN MY MOUTH.
story #2: the shopping cart
The holidays had arrived.
My sister Cheeks and I were visiting the old homestead in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Winters there are never really a picnic, but on this particular day, it was chillier than a dead earwig in a glass of iced tea.
If I recall correctly, there was no actual snow, but there was cold and rain and wind. All told, it was definitely a day for staying inside, and most of the people in our town were doing exactly that. Of course, whenever other people are being smart, Cheeks and I end up doing things that are incredibly dumb. So, in keeping with that tradition, we decided to go to Target.
I honestly don’t remember what we actually went there to get. All that really sticks in my memory was that a) it was FRIGID and b) the entire town was DESERTED. We literally didn’t see a single soul on our way to the store. The residents of our hometown had chosen to remain indoors rather than brave the elements to get . . . Pringles, or whatever the fuck it was we thought we needed.
Cheeks and I finished our shopping and emerged into the Cold ‘N Shitty parking lot. Two spots down from my car was a man sitting in *his* car. He hadn’t been there before, but we paid him little mind. It was freezing, after all, and we were hyper-focused on getting our cheap bras and nacho cheese Combos into the trunk of my car tout suite.
After we unloaded what I’ll generously call our “groceries,” the skies opened up, and Cheeks and I felt ourselves being pelted by an icy drizzle. We looked around for a place to put our empty cart, but the corral was
maybe eight to ten feet away literally a million miles across the parking lot. In a windy, icy Chicago rain? Forget it. We weren’t going to walk that shit over there.
So Cheeks did what we have all longed to do at one point or another—she simply gave our cart one good hard shove in the general direction of the corral and yelled: “FLY FREE!” At which point, the cart went maybe two feet, turned sharply, and fell over in the middle of the street.
And we decided to leave it there.
Laughing like idiots, we scrambled to my car in order to flee the scene of The Stupidest “Crime” Ever Committed. And that’s when we noticed that the guy in the parking spot two cars down from us had witnessed the whole thing and was laughing so hard he was crying. Like “wiping tears from his eyes” crying. Like “I can hardly breathe” crying. Like “these two people are the biggest morons I’ve ever seen” crying.
story #3: one million poop jars
My son wants to get in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Him: “Will you help me set a world record?”
Me: “Uh, sure. For what?”
Him: “Most consecutive hours watching television.”
Him: “You could make me a bed on the couch with lots of pillows and blankets.”
Him: “And get me like… twenty Capri-Suns.”
Him: “Hmm…not twenty. Fifty. No, a hundred.”
Him: “And a LOT of snacks.”
Me: “How would you go to the bathroom?”
Him: “One million pee jars.”
Me: “ONE MILLION PEE JARS.”
Me: “And what if you have to poop?”
Him (with “duh” expression): “One million poop jars.”
“Starbucks Tumbler”: http://store.starbucks.com/starbucks-cold-cup-24-fl-oz-011018039.html