So today is Friend/Blog Reader Sarah’s birthday. Hurrah!
Birthdays come but once a year!
Anyway, to celebrate, I’d like to make up the story of her birth.
The story of Sarah’s birth
The day was April 22, 1984. Ronald Reagan had just signed an accord of some sort with the Japanese, so everyone was in high spirits. Everyone, that is, except Deborah, Sarah’s mom. Because she was in labor, with Sarah, and trying to push Sarah out of her vagina. Times were tough, for Sarah’s mom.
The nurse brought in some lime Jell-O, which has always been Sarah’s mom’s favorite gelatin dessert, but nothing could take her mind off the fact that, by golly, she had a baby in her womb and it was time for it to come out.
And then … it did. That baby was Sarah, as I mentioned earlier. But something I didn’t mention earlier is that is was Easter (this part of the story is not made up). This explains why, when Sarah emerged triumphant from the womb, everyone gasped and noted how she was the spitting image of Jesus. And not even the baby Jesus, but the full-grown man Jesus.
Kind of like this.
Thank goodness for Sarah, it was one of those weird infant things that she grew out of in a few days, like how sometimes babies are born with blue eyes or black hair, and then it changes.
Which is kind of freaky, but that’s how babies are.
What’s that? The three regular readers of this blog are clammoring for more made-up stories about significant moments in their life? Well, I mean, I guess just one more couldn’t hurt …
Molly’s first kiss
His name was Rupus Frapple, and he was quite the commodity at Alfred P. Sloan Junior High School in Small Coastal Town, Wash. An exchange student from the European microstate of Andorra, Rufus was an extremely capable foosball player, which is something that is kind of sexy to 13-year-olds. At least, it was for Molly. Molly was also very attracted to the fact that, at birth, Andorrans have the second-highest life expectancy in the world at 82 years (this part of the story is true). She liked those odds.
One bright January morning, Rufus invited Molly and several of her peers on a ski trip, which is something people in Andorra, but also Small Coastal Town, Wash., like to do. Rufus’ host family drove everyone out there in their Ford Windstar Van.
Rufus and the ladies. Molly is far right.
Soon enough, Molly and Rufus had a moment alone by the rope tow. The kiss itself was awkward, but what came next was even more so.
“Molly,” Rufus said. “I brought you something … from my homeland.” You see, even though Rufus hadn’t met Molly, he brought this special present for the lady 13-year-old that would capture his heart.
But when he opened his hand, Molly made a face. The kind of face you make when you feel disappointed. Because Rufus had brought handcrafted Andorran butterfly barrettes. And if there’s one thing Molly hates, it’s butterflies (this part of the story is also true).
Rufus could see her disappointment, and it tore through him, like sandpaper through paper towels that are damp.
Rufus Frapple never spoke another word.
Discussion question: Should Sarah and Molly feel violated by these fabrications?
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