It was a cold and rainy night. She was running for her life from the predators who were chasing her. As she ran, constantly looking over her shoulder to see how close those who wanted to harm her were, she felt herself stumble forward only to be caught by the cold, hard steel of....
.... the Oldsmobile 88.
Alright, so it wasn't quite that gloomy or scary - had you going though, didn't I?
It was actually a rather comfortable and pleasant night. I was at church, First Baptist, for Wednesday night service - Acteens! I can't remember if it was before church or if it was during a break time, but I do remember being outside on the sidewalk goofing off with three guys [who shall remain nameless so that they are not hunted down and thrown into jail]. We were Junior High students, so we were, of course, just plain dumb. We were running up and down the sidewalk, and one of the gents decided to he would like to start throwing stuff at me. As I was dodging the incredibly dangerous objects [I think it was leaves....], I tripped. Big surprise, since everyone knows how incredibly graceful that I am, right?
It wouldn't have been so bad if there wasn't a big ole Oldsmobile 88 parked right in the space where my face was currenlty being hurled.
As I sat on the sidewalk, laughing about the latest proof of my cluminess, the pastor's wife walked outside. She looked at me and her face turned ghost-white. Apparently, I had busted my head wide open and blood was running down my face. I had no idea.
And then she called my mom.
To make a long story short - it was my first experience with getting stiches. When the male nurse asked me what had happened to me and I told him, he responded with, "Never tell that story to anyone else ever again."
I've always been a rebel.
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