I went for a walk with a friend today when I was reminded of this gem of a story. Enjoy.
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When I was in second grade, my best friends were two twin boys. For my purposes, they shall be called Randall and Clyde. I hung out with them almost every single day. They lived in the neighborhood and I would jump on my 10 speed and just show up on their doorstep at all times of the day. Surprise! It's me! Send out your children to play! I would then unleash myself upon them and their family until I heard the cast iron bell ring, telling me to come home for dinner.
I think their mom hated me, because in all reality I was a terrible friend. I bossed them around a lot. I ate all of their delicious snacks. I broke a few of their toys. I am sure that I have, on more than one occasion, punched them both as hard as I could. In the face, even. I made them cry. Frequently. Our friendship spawned more from the fact that we were close in age and proximity than from any actual mutual good feelings or personality similarities.
I was always jealous of them for many reasons, but the chief amongst them were:
1. They had kick ass National Geographic posters in their room. (Think Bengal tigers, and sharks!)
2. Their parents bought them all kinds of science-y Discovery telescopes, geodes, etc. They also had their own mini Maglites.
3. One summer, their grandparents or somebody constructed a huge teepee for them in their backyard.
Oh, and also they had a wood pile. For some reason that was really cool, too.
(Years later I realized that I shouldn't have ever been jealous of them. I'd trade shark posters, OCD hand washing before dinner, and half hour a day TV limits for my laid back parents who turned me loose outside and plied me with all the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet that I could handle any day.)
But anyway. I digress. The point is, they were like my only friends and I hung out with them a lot. One day I went to visit them but I was informed that they were busy. I was pretty sure they were WITH OTHER FRIENDS. I was pissed.
I went back to my bike and started pedaling home, but about half a block away I got an idea. Revenge! Never again will they play with anyone but me! I'll teach them to play with other kids! They'll realize I'm all the friends they need!
So I turned around, stashed my bike in the wild jungle in the middle of our development, and went to unleash mayhem on their world. I remembered hiding out in their (stupid really cool and awesome) teepee and trying to think of what I could do to get back at them. I contemplated stealing their (stupid really cool and awesome) firewood but I was unsure of how I would get it back home. I also was unsure of how much they'd really care about that anyway. And I was pretty sure I could go to jail for that.
My second thought was to break into their house and sabotage all playtime activities they were having with their other friends. They would go to play with a puzzle only to find half the pieces missing! They would go to watch their favorite movie, but I would have squirted jelly into the VCR! It would be mishap after hilarious mishap, like in the movie Matilda or something. (At least I'm pretty sure that was what Matilda was about, because I was never allowed to see it. But that was the plot I imagined. If I'm wrong, well... I don't want to know about it.)
I sat in their (stupid really cool and awesome) teepee for a really long time, but I couldn't actually come up with anything that I thought I could successfully execute.
Then my train of thought derailed. It probably went something like this:
Think self, think! What do Clyde and Randall really hate... Hmm... I know! Cat poop in the sandbox! Nothing is worse than cat poop in the sandbox! Except maybe... human poop? Of course! Human poop would be the worst thing ever!
So I decided that pooping in their sandbox would be the perfect revenge. (A logical conclusion for anyone to reach, no?)
There I was next to their shed, knitted pants around my ankles, straining to poop in their sandbox. I was in the middle of making a sizable deposit when out of nowhere Coco, the scariest evilest dog in the neighborhood, came running by me. In a state of panic, I prematurely pulled up my pants to run away.
Although Coco's owner called the dog back and I was spared a vicious mauling, it was already too late for my dignity. There was a small squishy turd left behind in the leg of my stretch knit pants. I freaked out at my own fecal mishap and threw my pants off, leaving them hidden under some rocks behind my friends' shed. I ran to my bike, and pedaled home in my underwear, smelling literally like shit.
I managed to sneak up to my room to put on new pants before anyone ever found out, although my mom did wrinkle her nose at my stink. I went to play with Randall and Clyde the next day only to learn that they weren't, in fact, playing with other friends. They were just hanging out with their grandparents. I pooped on myself for no reason.
Needless to say, I never pooped in anyone's sandbox ever again. It was a valuable lesson learned.
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