Ice Cream Sundae

   My mom would always get on my dad's case for telling jokes that were not kid savvy. She believed children should be somewhat shielded from this side of life until a certain age. The nano second I became a tween, she turned on some switch and suddenly, she turned into an inappropriate story and joke telling monster (like my father).

    My parents friends the Chakis owned a cottage in Huntsville Ontario, and we were invited up countless times. The Chakis are a couple my parents played volleyball and drinking with, and they had two sons. Their eldest was my sisters age, and their youngest Treve was one year my senior. They had a Nintendo avec games at the cottage to go with the lake and stars, so I was in heaven.

    One night the youth were at the table playing cards, and I assume it being past dinner my mother was mostly likely a few glasses into the night. I'm not saying my parents are alcoholics (not once have they been to a meeting) they just enjoy letting loose at the appropriate times. Much like my parents, I enjoy leisure drinking as well.

    At the cottage, drinking starts usually around three on a weekday and noon on a weekend. One year my dad was so into his leisure activity, that he didn't notice the front of his running shoe melting because he was too close to the fire (it's these memories I cherish).

    So, my mother well past Wine O Clock sat down and joined the four of us at the table. She was feeling spirited (literally) and decided to tell us a joke (anytime at this age my mother sat down to do anything while I was in the company of non family members, especially after wine I was petrified)

    Taking a side note here for a moment (it's what I do best) my mom's shenanigans were not localized to alcohol or events. Her performing was a regular thing, much to the delight of grocery store clerks, doctors, dentists, receptionists and teachers all across my region. She was not on a mission to embarrass me, I know this. She is just who she is, an entertainer.

    Now that I am an adult (my drivers licence indicates at least) I get my mom. I get her because in many ways I am her. If she hadn't put on such a spectacle when I was growing up, I would never have crawled out of my shell. I was always worried other people may thing I am not normal if I let loose, my mom taught me, I'm not normal, and who cares what they say.

    She is OK with herself, and is indeed an entertainer. When you add alcohol to her however, you increase said entertainment value, and remove a filter. My mom actually has one (my father does not) and it's usually so handy. Again, after a few bevvies, it's gone. 

    Although my mom has missed the punch line on a few jokes, and tends to also get halfway through a joke an forget the punch line, this time she got it bang on. Seating herself down, she placed her wine glass on the table, and told us all she had a joke.

    It's a good one when she tells it, my mother is animated, silly, and gets right into character. No one can tell this joke like my mom. It's hilarious now, but when your a tween who wishes their parents (no matter how much love they have given) would go away, because they are embarrassing, it's downright painful. Tweens’ can barely admit to having parents on a good day.

    With that my mom jumps into character (actually there are two, she does both), and tells this joke:

    A young boy walks into a Ice Cream Shop, about eight years old, dressed up in a little boy's cowboy costume. He wearing a cowboy hat, has spurs on his boots, a bandana around his neck and a holster on his hips holding two toy guns. The boy walks up to the counter, pulls out his guns and points them at the lady. He says, “give me a hot fudge sundae”.

    The woman smiles, and says she will, then asking him “would you like sprinkles on that?”

    “Give me some sprinkles” he says again withdrawing his guns.

    “OK”, says the lady, “would you like cherries on that?

    “Give me some cherries” he answers, guns drawn.

    “Would you like nuts on your sundae” the woman inquires.
   
    “Give me some nuts” the boy replies.

    “Would you like your nuts crushed?” the lady asks.

     The boy pulls his guns out a final time and says “you want your tits blown off?!”

    By the end of her joke I was red faced and embarrassed but no one would have noticed since everyone had burst out laughing. Treve almost fell off his chair, and tears streamed down his face. Let's be real here, if you say tits to a thirteen year old boy you will get laughs (at least in the 90's you did). It's like saying the word poop to grade ones, you are guaranteed a laugh (but should you really be “going there” at all?)

    The story of-course, does not end there. Cat Chakis, Treve's mom, was none too impressed with this joke her son was now aware of, not her eldest, her youngest. It was of no help then, that weeks after this trip when school had started back up, he her concerns were verified.

    Cat was making her way home from grocery shopping on what I imagine to be a warm sunny fall day. When she drove past Treve's grade school which was around the corner from their house, she came face to face reality with what it means to have my mom as a friend (outside of the love, care, entertainment and support mind you).  Out in the yard, she could see her son, and he was surrounded by a group of boys. He was talking, and they were all listening.

    Then suddenly, she saw her sweet shy little angel,  raise his hands up like he was holding two (toy) guns, and watched as the group around him burst out laughing. As she was driving down her street, she says she openly and out loud said to herself, “I'm gonna fucking kill Kim Anderson.”

First Steps

    It was a November afternoon and I was a first year University student, experiencing the joy of midterms for the first time. It was the new millennium, and I was looking sharp in those days. Nothing says “trendy” like baggy man’s jeans, inch long pixie cut bleach blond hair and a rainbow seat belt belt with an array of retro t-shirts to complete the look. The problem being, I'm not a lesbian; were I, this would have been appropriate fashion at the time, but I needed a break from being a hippy so that’s the direction I went.

    I was preparing for my midterm for a week in this particular class (epic comparative to my night before usual) and felt extremely nervous about it. Important to note, I am not (but continue to improve) a prompt person. I am laid back, easy going, and often late (always for important things, I'm never late for a lunch break).

    When I was in grade-school, I drove my sister insane with the amount of time I took to do anything, especially when it came to getting ready and out the door on time in the morning.

     In grade-school, my father approached me one morning and pitched a brilliant idea to race me in the morning to see who could get ready faster. No one knew I had the ability to move so quickly at that time, and I gave myself a pat on the back because 95% of the time, I won!

     It wasn't until I volunteered with children in high school that I connected the dots on this “race”. I was volunteering at a resource centre in a housing project with children. I announced to the children that it was clean up time, and we could race to see who's done first. It was brilliant I thought to myself, I'll make it a game, and they'll be none the wiser.

    Suddenly, I flashed back to my dad racing me, and realized it was all a ruse. Worse, my dad told me recently my sister use to wink at him in the mornings while I was scurrying around trying to “win”. That being said, in University, there was no race to get ready. It was up to me to make sure I was adult enough to get where I needed on time.

    So the day of the big midterm arrives, and I could barely move for the butterflies bouncing violently in my stomach. I took my time making sure I looked nice, read over my notes one last time, and made my way out to the car to head up to school.

    When I got there, I found myself with no place to park. I had forked out the money for a parking pass, with no actual available parking spaces available. I circled and circled and could see my time running out on the clock. My palms became sweatier than usual, and my heart started to flutter.

    The exam started at eleven, and it was five minutes too. I still had no space to park and it took five minutes to walk to the lecture hall. I could picture the hall now, it was one of the largest and held over six hundred students, and on a midterm day, all but one seat would be taken at this time.

    I spoke out loud as I circled around, “Oh holy fuck, late for your midterm...fuck no...fuck...space...why are there no spaces!”

    I could feel the panic set in, and red hot tears forming behind my eyes,  just then a car pulled out, and I pulled into a spot with three minutes to go.

    The second my car was locked and I had my stuff, I started to sprint. Desperately I raced across the parking lot, through the sea of students at the front lobby, and down the hallway like a lunatic, making it with one minute to spare. I didn't stop running when I got to the door however, I kept going. The exam was probably being handed out now I figured, and I still had to find a seat.

    I bust through the doors into the lecture hall of six hundred or so students, and spotted a seat in the very middle of the crowd available. I could feel myself relax, and must have somehow told my legs to follow suit. I lost it somehow, my footing that is, my legs went to jello, and down I went.

    I didn't just fall, I bailed. I crashed like a ton of bricks, then, I rolled. That's right folks, my books went flying and I rolled down the stairs, stopping, one below where I had planned to sit.

    There was not a sound to be heard in the lecture hall aside from a few gasps, and some repressed giggling. What do you do in a situation like this? The floor did not open up and swallow me, I was there, on the steps, dumbfounded. I did what any self respecting human being would do, I stood up, and I took a bow.

    Taking a bow after a stunt is still the choice I would go with if ever I had to relive through this moment (knowing me, something similar will occur again). It indicated to the audience, that I admit to it, it's funny, and I am so OK with myself, that you can now enjoy. They did, laughter erupted throughout the lecture hall, and the professor eventually had to request that people calm down.

    This became a story in my program,  and for years to follow people would talk about “the girl who fell” first year in front of me, not knowing I was that girl (note: I changed my look in this time frame).

    Take a bow, it's all you can do. With the help of another student, I collected my books, and located the seat that was smack dab in the middle of everyone. I can't say I wasn't embarrassed, I was fucking mortified. My face showed it too, with a bright red glow that I am sure even the cheap seats at the back could see, if not feel the heat coming off.

    As mentioned, I was rocking some very short hair, and had nothing to hide behind (you don't realize it's use until it's gone). I sat down in the cramped hall after such an event, red faced and still hearing the odd chuckle here and there, all while writing my very first midterm.