2. Make sure you actually know when your classes are or you'll be embarrassed.
3. Watch your head when you get into your bunk bed, or you will hit your head and it will hurt.
4. Doctor Who will give you all the feelings and it will be the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.
Hi everyone! I'm Sally, another friend of Nicole, Megan, and Melissa. I live across the hall in 707. I'm not sure how this works yet, but I think I'm just going to wing it and see what happens.
I'm a new feature on this blog, called "Story Time with Sally"; at least, that's what Nicole tells me. This came up because Nicole and Megan have this strange ability to coax the stories of all of my deepest childhood traumas out of me, and apparently they're the most hilarious stories they've ever heard. Obviously I don't see it that way, but hey, whatever makes them happy. So I guess I'll just start out telling my stories and maybe making you laugh a little, and we'll go from there.
When I was seven, my family and some friends went to the state fair. Sounds like a normal family outing, right? Well, naturally, something ridiculous has to happen because that's how my life works. There was some sort of dancing skeleton display that we were all looking at. It was the most fantastic thing I'd ever seen in my life (at that point; I was only seven). I honestly think I was in love with that dancing skeleton; I remember it so clearly and I remember laughing really hard. So I'm standing there watching this dancing skeleton and I don't realize that my family is walking away without me. I turned around a couple minutes later and my parents were nowhere to be seen. This is the state fair, remember; there are hundreds of people wandering around. Being seven, I followed the rules: stand still, shut your eyes, and count to a hundred. If Mom doesn't show up in that amount of time, then find a mother with kids. Mothers are safe, apparently. So I counted to a hundred and no Mom, so I looked around and didn't see any mothers with kids. I started to cry. And I mean cry, like wailing, wrenching tears. A lady with a stroller was going past and she stopped and asked me what was wrong and where my mom was. I remember our conversation like this:
LADY: Oh, sweetie, don't cry. Where's your mom? Are you lost?
ME: FDJSKLOIHptuqoihjweSDPFHUREW I DON'T KNOW SHE'S GONE AND I JFIDSITHYUTWT
LADY: It's okay, we'll find her. What does she look like?
ME: She's short and has brown hair and she's wearing a blue shirt!
LADY: Okay, what about your dad?
ME: He's short and has brown hair and he's wearing a blue shirt!
It's a good thing my parents had the smarts to come back looking for me a few minutes after that because I'm certain there was no way I would ever have found them otherwise. But I didn't go to the state fair again until I was seventeen, ten years later. I only went then because my friend made me go. I tried to tell her I was traumatized, but she told me I was being silly. I wouldn't let my friend out of my sight the entire day.
I'm a complex individual.
MORAL OF THE STORY: That dancing skeleton was totally worth looking at for two extra minutes, regardless of the trauma it later caused. Don't be afraid to be on your own for a minute; sometimes you get to see something awesome. Other times you get left behind and you feel alone, but in the end someone will find you, and you'll have seen something really cool.
(That would be me trying not to trivialize this lovely blog my friends have created. Sorry, guys. I'm not very good at life lessons.)
I don't know, I think my story-telling loses a little something in transcription. Hopefully this is up to snuff with my philosophical friends.If you're still reading at this point, I admire your fortitude. Tune in next week for another ridiculous childhood trauma!
Geronimo!
-Sally
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