It’s Friday! Woot Woot Woot!! This means I have another AWESOME blog to introduce you to this week. I really love Fridays. Especially when I get to feature someone who also has the scoop on poop. She has irrational fears and hilarious children. She’s even got a unique spelling to a common name. Please welcome Brittainy of Litany of Brittainy to The Scoop on Poop today!!
Something bad happened.
Common catch phrase. The response I get is typically: “What now?” Then,”That would only happen to you. Just your luck.”
I was the kid who always got hurt in gym class. You know the one who trips over Justin S. while playing kickball, and manages to knock Corey T. down like a bowling pin during the smash and slide? Me.
Remember that one kid who was caught stealing third base, and sprinted back to recover second, but tripped over her own feet, sending her sailing like a cartoon, head-first into the cement gymnasium wall? Yeah, that was me too.
Do you recall The Great Balance Beam Incident, where Her Gracefulness teetered awkwardly on the balance beam before loosing her footing, slamming her hoo-haw into the beam, turning upside down, falling on her head, and losing consciousness? Not awesome.
Ask me how I know.
But the worst thing about being that kid, was broken glasses. Countless pairs of broken glasses in my middle school years. Sitting accidents, soccer balls in the face. When I was nine, and got hit by a car at my friend’s birthday party, my first thought was did I break my glasses? Once, somebody’s dog ate them. The dog’s name was Dank.
Last year was The Lens Catastrophe Of 2009. That was the day I broke every vision related thing I owned. First I let the strap of my brand new SLR hang irresistibly over the kitchen table in the vicinity of my son. He pulled it to the floor, where it grimaced and shattered. My memory will bear the scars of that moment forever.
But was it lucky, or unlucky?
When I was four or five years old I nearly drowned. I was at a pond, and while walking around in the water I wandered right into an underwater drop-off. I remember falling to the bottom and pushing off with my feet, gulping a big breath of air when my face broke the water, and gliding back down. Pushing off, gliding down. Rinse and repeat. After 5 or 6 underwater jumps to the surface, I stopped pushing off, and resigned to going under. On that final glide to the pond bottom I felt like a feather being carried off at the discretion of the wind. I opened my eyes and saw the disturbed sand billowing, the muted, rocky pond floor, and the minnows. That’s the last thing I remember.
My aunts told me later that they weren’t paying attention. That they were talking amongst themselves and suddenly realized there was chaos. People screaming and running into the water. Something about a drowning kid. There was a period of confusion before they realized it was me. Somebody pulled me out of the water and saved my life. I was going to drown and then I wasn’t.
Was I lucky or unlucky?
When all is said and done, in retrospect, I’m unscathed. My kids are healthy, my husband comes home every night. I own a home, a dog. I have the typical American family, (consisting of totally atypical people, but nonetheless), and though money is tight, we are not starving to death. I have a handful of quality friends. Things suck sometimes, but I would still say I’m pretty lucky. Sometimes I would say I’m the luckiest girl in town.