Hm. I was a lot younger than middle school-aged the first time I wondered something like that. But it was probably around middle school that I realized that while I wouldn't do that because it could hurt other people, those other people wouldn't do it because they might hurt themselves. I think I'm still a little shaky on the concept, actually. hahaha I was a volunteer firefighter for a while. I'm prone to going outside (sometimes barefoot) in the middle of the night to investigate strange noises when my parents are away in Virginia. I've chased bears off my front porch... Yeah, I'm really not very careful with myself.
Anyway. Memory. Hm. Okay, this has nothing to do with anything, but I remembered it the other day and decided it would need to be shared before the month was over, and since your memory isn't triggering anything specific, I'll use it today. :D
I must've been somewhere between ten or twelve when this happened. I was in church and I guess I had a sore throat or something because I was sitting out of choir. My church was very small. The choir consisted of me, my cousin, the pastor, the pastor's wife, the organist, my godmom, a lady named Doris and Doris's nephew Emil. On a good week there would be maybe twice that many people in the congregation. Sometimes the choir was bigger than the congregation. Anyway, as I recall, it was actually a little "busy" this particular week. I was sitting near the back of the group with my grandmother. When it was time for a few moments of silent prayer, I saw gramma moving out of the corner of my eye so I looked over at her to see what she was up to. She was picking fuzz balls off her sweater -- you know how they pill up sometimes? -- and sort of rolling them between her fingers. She noticed me looking, held up one of the fuzz balls and told me, rather loudly (especially considering it was supposed to be a moment of silence), "Not a booger." ... ... Needless to say, a majority of the people there heard her, and I had to excuse myself to go outside and crack the hell up. Oh, gramma. ♥
Anyway. Memory. Hm. Okay, this has nothing to do with anything, but I remembered it the other day and decided it would need to be shared before the month was over, and since your memory isn't triggering anything specific, I'll use it today. :D
I must've been somewhere between ten or twelve when this happened. I was in church and I guess I had a sore throat or something because I was sitting out of choir. My church was very small. The choir consisted of me, my cousin, the pastor, the pastor's wife, the organist, my godmom, a lady named Doris and Doris's nephew Emil. On a good week there would be maybe twice that many people in the congregation. Sometimes the choir was bigger than the congregation. Anyway, as I recall, it was actually a little "busy" this particular week. I was sitting near the back of the group with my grandmother. When it was time for a few moments of silent prayer, I saw gramma moving out of the corner of my eye so I looked over at her to see what she was up to. She was picking fuzz balls off her sweater -- you know how they pill up sometimes? -- and sort of rolling them between her fingers. She noticed me looking, held up one of the fuzz balls and told me, rather loudly (especially considering it was supposed to be a moment of silence), "Not a booger." ... ... Needless to say, a majority of the people there heard her, and I had to excuse myself to go outside and crack the hell up. Oh, gramma. ♥
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