A New Legend Begins
Back in high school, I ran with a great group of people, most of whom are still my friends today. As high school students are wont to do, we got into our share of trouble, experienced our share of angst and had indescribable amounts of fun that eventually became the stuff of legends. One of the legendary events took place during a party at our friend Sam's place. There are two versions of this legend -- one is the tale my friends tell, and the other is the truth. The truth is, a few of us were standing near the field by the townhouse and were a bit, shall I say, "happy." I wandered a bit into the field and noticed one of my shoes was untied. I knelt to tie it and, because I was a bit happy, I fell over. Nothing more, nothing less. Unfortunately, my friends, who weren't even standing near me at the time, have this utterly bizarre delusion that I passed out, simply because a small snail had gotten on my shoe. Nothing could be further from the truth, yet they continue spreading this legend. Happily. Often. Look, I had been standing in grass, and that snail could have gotten there at any time. One of the more frequent tellers of this tall tale is my good friend Glenda, aka The Good Witch, who stayed with us last night and proves that legends can be born anywhere and any time. Last night was just that time.
My brother Allan loves to ski and had planned to spend his birthday doing so. Unfortunately, a health issue popped up and he couldn't fly. Thinking he might be a bit bummed, I asked him to celebrate his birthday with us by letting us take him to dinner. We arranged to go eat at La Griglia, a restaurant across the street from us. After having a drink at the bar, we were seated and chatted as we looked over the menu. Allan told us about his medical treatment, which includes giving himself subcutaneous injections. He started to describe the process, when Glenda said, "Please stop. I'm going to pass out." We figured she was joking, so Allan continued for a bit. "Really, I'm going to pass out." Then she slowly laid her head on her arm on the table, flipping a bread plate as she did so. We thought she was joking around, but I figured that, if she was joking, she'd have snapped back up when she realized she'd knocked something off the table. She didn't move. The waiter walked up as the three of us stared and wondered what to do. I casually looked at the waiter and said, "So, what do you do in situations like this?" Glenda looked up and didn't look well. She decided that, maybe, she should go back to the RubinSmo Manor and lie down. Her body decided she should take another slow face plant onto the table. The waiter decided to excuse himself.
When all was said and done, Lindsey took Glenda back to the Manor while Allan and I decided to order an appetizer to go, head to the Manor and order a pizza. When we got back to the Manor, Glenda was upright. Her face was the correct color, and she'd had a bit of toast and water. The four of us sat in the living room, talked and laughed the evening away and had a slightly less formal dinner then we'd planned. Considering the amount of laughter, I think (and hope) Allan enjoyed himself on his birthday. At the very least, he should feel privileged to know that he is now part of an infamous evening that is now the stuff of legend: The Night Glenda Passed Out. Twice. With Actual Witnesses. I'm thinking of finding a small commemorative snail to put on her shoe.