1 post tagged “infamous story”
What's the infamous story people tell about you?
Submitted by Cherney.
Two words: cherry. pie.
This is one of those stories that you can't decide if you remember it because you actually remember it or because you've heard it so many times. My mom and dad will swear it's true and Mom tells it all the time, mostly to illustrate what a bratty kid I was. I think it shows how lucky they were that DCFS didn't drop by frequently.
I was probably around 3 when this happened, because we were still in the Little Red House and I don't think Stacey was around. I had been told to clean my bedroom because people were coming over and I couldn't have dessert until it was clean. I clearly remember what my bedroom looked like. There was a bed and a toybox, the latter of which was empty because the toys occupied every inch of floor space. Being the first-born and only grandchild on either side of the family, I was a tiny bit over-indulged. I hated to clean (funny how personality traits are so ingrained even at that young an age) but I loved dessert (ditto). And dessert was my favorite, cherry pie - cherry cheesecake, to be exact. Oh the dilemma... luckily, even at 3 years old, I had learned the Grandma Defense.
My answer was to clear a path between the door and the bed and from the bed to the toybox. That was it. Basically I just kind of pushed the clutter around to make a path. Then I showed Mom & Dad AND Grandma. Grandma took one look and said "well, that's not too bad, come have pie" overriding my parents opinion that I'd done a pretty half-assed job. And she gave me a piece of pie.
Any smart kid would have just quietly eaten the pie, realizing they'd gotten lucky. But I was a smart-ass kid. I took my pie into the living room where my dad was sitting and said "Ha ha ha, I got pie". And as I turned to flounce away, he gave me a little kick in my little smart ass. And I fell face first into my slice of pie.
Now at this point in the story, everyone in my family is usually laughing at the visual image of little Jonnell crying with pie all over her face, humiliated but learning a (short-lived until next time) lesson about being a mouthy little brat. But I have seen outsiders, non-family members, try unsuccessfully to disguise their shock, appalled that we think this clear example of child abuse is funny, the stuff of family legend. Wait until I tell them about the time Mom whipped a slab of Velveeta at my head from across the kitchen when I was 12. I think this answers a LOT of questions about why I am the way I am.
Ah, family.... good times.
PS - my best friend Ellen would probably tell the story about how, after several margaritas, I managed to fall straight back off a curb and into the street at an outdoor cafe (still seated in the chair - now that's talent). Revealing to her, her then-boyfriend-now-husband and my now-long-ex-boyfriend and everyone else in eye-shot that when wearing a short skirt, sheer pantyhose do not provide an adequate substitute for actual panties. But that's another story.
