Stupid Moments: Oh Man.

The second after my sister suggested this topic, I knew I was in over my head. For the past 13 hours, I’ve been thinking of nothing but the times when I’ve done incredibly dumb things: swallowing a penny, sticking a double-serated steak knife into my mouth, falling face first into a watt of mud while biking no-handed and performing the YMCA, snowboarding down a mountain through a forest having never snowboarded before in my life, sticking fire into a tub of water bubbling with hydrogen gas, licking a water filter, and streaking someone’s yellow house with red paint…just to name a few. The sad thing is, in the matter of minutes it took me to rattle off about eleven stupid things that I’d done, my sister managed one and a half; her second one didn’t even qualify as being wholly stupid.

Sigh.

But rather than retell every story and watch my self-esteem crumble into dust, I’ve chosen two. One is from when I was little, and therefore have some excuse for. The other is from the very recent past. Let’s say, two weeks ago?

Story 1:
There I was, about to attempt what had never been attempted before. What lay before me was a daunting task, but I was not afraid. I would tell no one; this mission was mine, the burdens for me alone to bear. I was about to push through the boundaries of humanity.

I dove. Immediately, darkness fell, and I was enveloped by a strange, amorphous substance. I thrashed wildly, fighting to breathe. What was this? I could not gain a stable foothold. I tried to muscle my way out, but to no avail. Yet, just as I was on the brink of suffocation, I saw a tiny ray of light in the distance. It was my only hope, I thought, as I dragged my body feebly toward it. Cool, sweet air filled my lungs. I gulped; nothing had ever tasted to good. But my mission was only half over -- this was only the first layer! Squaring myself, I reached out and grabbed, feeling my hand close around my target. But it was soft, much softer than I had expected. No! I could not afford to be taken by surprise. I needed this thing. It would cover me, shield me, from whatever enemy forces were out there. My protective shell. By this time I had stared to sweat, yet I pushed on. A little sweat never killed anyone. But what if it did? What if my sweat were laced with poison, somehow infused by the Enemy? I shoved the thought out of my mind. My protective shell had begun to slip slowly from my grip. Desperately, I lunged. With one final heave, I knew I had done it. Safe at last. I lay there, panting, realizing for the first time how hot and exhausted I felt. I broke into a grin. YES! Under two blankets at the saaaame time. I was so proud I could poo.

After a quick meal I returned to the site where my blankets still lay in a heap. Fueled by one successful attempt, I was ready to do it all again. But I stopped short: the blankets were already on top of another. I crawled beneath them. Yes, I was under two blankets. But was this the same as when I crawled beneath one, and then painstakingly dragged the other over myself? No, it couldn’t be the same. I refused to acknowledge that I had wasted my efforts. This was the Enemy’s doing…

Story 2
I’ve never liked biking. When I was younger it was alright; we went on family bike rides and most of the time it was fun. Plus, the pink bike with streamers made everything better. It even had a matching pink basket attached to the handlebars, so I could bring my toy pony with me. Now, my bike is just a form of transportation. It’s not pink, so I feel no joy when I get on, and since when did biking become so much work? There are hills and inclines EVERYWHERE.

One day, while biking to work and mumbling angrily about what a hassle this stupid bike was, I noticed the grass growing along the sidewalk cracks. When I was little, I used to play a game with myself: ride along the cracks. I decided to restart this game. Soon, I was on my merry way, navigating along the various cracks in the sidewalk. Feeling a bit tired, I switched to a lower gear. But something was wrong. A grinding noise? Grinding noises don’t mesh with sidewalk cracks, they don’t go together, bad! I looked down frantically, hoping with all my might that the chain was still on my bike. It was. Relieved, I pulled my head up to resume sidewalk crack riding. Too late did I realize I was fast approaching an electric pole the size of large tree trunk. Abort! Abort! I sideswiped the pole with my handlebar, veered dangerously off the sidewalk and felt my bike begin to tip over. In a last ditch attempt, I tried jumping off my bike and pulling a ninja move to save myself. It would’ve worked, if not for the backpack. Oh, the backpack -- having served my faithfully through all these years, it decided to betray me in my time of need. Throwing me completely off balance, it sent me tumbling, half sliding, half rolling, onto the ground. I scrambled up as fast as possible, thinking not about any injuries I might have sustained, but about the possibility of someone having seen me. My worst fears were realized when I heard a voice call out, “ARE YOU OK?!” A little old lady had apparently decided that the morning was a good time to work on her garden. The morning, really?! I gave an unintelligible reply, indicating I was fine, and then pedaled the hell outta there. Ouch. My pride. And this time, there was no pony.

Sigh.