Random English Assignment from Freshman Year..
[LoL... just randomness. It's unbelievable how much my writing has changed since then - it's so dark and cynical now. Anyway, enjoy if you have time. Skim if you don't. Stop if you're bored. Love you guys.]
I thought my family was normal until we made an unforgettable summer trip to Destin, Florida four years ago. We had stuffed the minivan up to our shoulders in luggage… To this day I can’t figure out how Mom managed to convince Dad that we needed to bring our own toilet paper. She never trusted anything in “those unsanitary hotels,” as she termed them. After Dad had reentered the car after checking to make sure that Momma had unplugged her curlers, he hadn’t even touched the seat before she blurted worriedly, “Brett, do you think I turned off the oven?”
“Caroline… we didn’t cook anything in the oven,” Dad replied.
“But what if I left it on!” Mom continued, while my younger sister and I mouthed the words along with her. She said these things every time we left the house, so Annette and I pretty much knew the drill by now! “It could blow up the house!” she wailed.
“If it blows up the house, I’ll build you a new house. Now we have to leave or it’ll be winter by the time we get to the beach.”
“Well, if you won’t check the oven, I will!” Mom insisted, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“CaroLINE! I’m going, I’m going, stay in the car.” Needless to say, Momma won that argument. Dad just couldn’t make Mom do something that she had already asked him to do for her. It’s his nature to serve and to please… I think I inherited that part of him. Once Dad had returned and plopped back into his seat, Mom gasped and asked, “Do you think I unplugged the iron?” Daddy stood back up with a groan.
………
The trip was moving along nicely. We had stopped for a snack, our tummies were full and happy, we had kicked our shoes off, the radio was on… so far so good. Brett occupied the entire backseat. He had earphones on and was jamming to some rock song he had probably never heard before that day. Yeah… he must have been going through that guy stage where he thought he was cool. Sure.
Annette, my little sister, sat next to me in the middle row of seats. We had luggage piled up all around us. I remember the diversity of “essentials” piled at my feet alone. They ranged from Annette’s Barbie horse whose hair kept tickling my ankle, to packages of Charmin toilet paper so that we wouldn’t get an STD from what the hotel had to offer, to the entirety of the family medicine cabinet somehow stuffed into a ziplock bag… further proof of my Mother’s anxiety disorder. Throughout the ride, I tried not to put my feet on anything important as I clung to my pillow and ONE small bag of personal belongings.
Mom had just given us on-the-road manicures when Annette reached for her Barbie horse between my feet. “Wait, Annette,” I told her, grasping her wrist and holding her hand away from the toy, “I’ll get it so you don’t spill everything out of your toy bag.” This set her off. The kid can’t handle not getting what she wants right when she wants it. She’s like a friggen siren, too. I can’t imagine her lung capacity. We squabbled for a few minutes, during which Dad turned around and said, “Girls, don’t fight. You’ll mess up your nails.” I had no time to laugh hysterically over my big, buff father giving such a girly excuse for not fighting with my sibling at the time, but I certainly reminded him of this comment later! I had expected him to say something along the lines of “Girls, don’t fight, or I’ll pull over and you’ll wish you’d never been born!” But, instead, that came out. I still remind him of what he said that day. I could have centered this entire essay on that comment… or even silly things that Daddy has said!
After a few eardrum-busting wails, Annette held up the arm that I had grabbed, making sure that it appeared as limp, hurt, and pathetic as possible, and announced, “Daddy, Rie broke my arm.”
The entire family cracked up (with the exception of Brett, who had no idea what was going on) at this comment, and even Annette laughed as Mom felt her arm carefully for any broken bones. Luckily, I didn’t get in trouble for “breaking” my sister’s arm, and we DID eventually make it to the beach before winter!