Thursday, March 27, 2008

Whip Lash

It's almost over. See where it began.

You're sitting at a stop light, flipping through the radio stations when BAM your rear end is slammed into by a vehicle twice the size of the one you're driving. You fling forward and your neck whips violently into the back of the seat. Pain shoots from your head into the pit of your stomach and you realize, quickly, that you can't turn in either direction. You have visions of people walking around in neck braces and slowly you begin to understand that that will be you in a matter of moments. You're less than thrilled because you think they look downright boring. Plus you've got an important event coming up and you just bought a new red dress (or any color, really. Remember that the Magic Scarf comes in a wide assortment of shades). This is where your Red Thing comes in handy.

I tried my best to look as miserable as I think I would be if I actually had to don a neck brace. Notice the lovely shade of nausea I'm wearing?

I did not fall once while I was skiing. Granted, I stayed on the beginner slopes in hopes of keeping my femurs intact, but still. (When I was 14 my mother broke her femur while skiing which is a major part of the reason that I have only put skis on twice in the past twelve years.) Troy fell once. I was complaining about how I was so out of shape that my legs were killing me and my husband turned around to laugh at me and, despite the fact that he was standing still, tumbled into a heap. If I was a member of an Indian religion I would begin a discussion about karma right now.

On occasion, Troy and I play this game we call Would You Rather. It's not really a game, actually, since there is no way to win or lose but it makes for a fun discussion. It was probably born from the game I used to play with him where I said things like, "Would you still love me if one of my eyes was three inches lower than the other?" or "Would you have married me if my legs were on backward?" So last night, we struck up a game of Would You Rather. One of Troy's questions really got me thinking. He asked, "Would you rather have Garrett get a giant black eye that didn't cause any permanent damage or drink a gallon of rotten milk?" A good mom would drink the rotten milk in a heartbeat but when I really thought about it I wondered if I would even be successful at drinking a gallon of milk, rotten or not, without puking my guts up. I paused. He started to laugh and said, "You want to say drink the milk but you're thinking it might be better if Garrett got a black eye and we took a lot of cool pictures and you made a scrapbook page about it, aren't you?" I told him I was a horrible mother. Just then, The Dictator squeaked in his sleep on the baby monitor and I thought, maybe, I could get a gallon of rotten milk down. So what do you think? Would you rather your kid got a black eye or you consumed a gallon of curdled milk?

The other hilarious Would You Rather question went something like this:

Me: Would you rather I had as much chest hair as you (he's not particularly hairy or anything, but still much hairier than a woman should be) or you had the same size chest as me?

Him: (long pause) Well, I'm thinking that reduction surgery would be cheaper than that much electrolysis so I guess I'd take one for the team.


  1. Interestingly I recently read an article that said a human being could not physically drink a gallon of milk, rotten or otherwise. Apparently our bodies are not capable of processing that much dairy. You would start to throw it up before you even came near finishing the gallon you were working on.

    Although I'm sure there's some nut out there who has managed it, there always is. And I suppose you could keep drinking and throwing up, drinking and throwing up. What a lovely image.

  2. Chicks dig scars, so I assume they may dig black eyes as well. As long as G-Money had a cool story like, "Yeah, I was hiking with my friends and this huge bear came outta nowhere. Obviously, I didn't want my friends to get all jacked up, so I socked the bear in the face. He socked me back. So I kicked him in the bear-parts. He left after that. It was a low blow, but someone had to stop that guy."