Sometimes even God is lazy. I mean, have you SEEN the Sahara desert or Antarctica or Pennsylvania? Pure laziness. Tonight’s post is once again coming to you at the last minute because I, though very wise and right and holy and such, am also experiencing a regrettable bout of procrastination syndrome. Forgive me. This tale comes on the advice of my son and his lover/facebook wife. We have decided to make it a theme inspired by the latter’s first post. If the Virgin Mary and Jesus don’t follow the theme, I shall smite them. The following experience happened in kindergarten. Please do not mock me, or I shall smite yo ass, too, biatch. Ahem.
Every week there was one thing I yearned for. It was a beautiful, mysterious box. Once the honor of taking it home was bestowed on me, I felt sure that I would never want for any joy in life. This box, you see, was the Surprise Box. The more modern…I mean, biblical, version of show and tell that my teacher invented. A student put something in the box, then provided hints as to what the item was while others tried to guess it. The student that guessed won both the item and the privilege of being the next to fill the box.
One week, that honor was mine. I got a stuffed animal. Although I cannot remember much about it, trust me; it was perfect. Being the clever little kiddie I was, I put a balloon in the box. I was certain that nary a child would guess, and I would triumph as the ultimate mystery.
My moment arrived. I was so excited. So anxious. So proud. So nervous. So terrified.
I began to explain the balloon using the loosest language my five-year-old-self possessed. No one understood! I was awesome! I would surely win!
But what if I didn’t?
What if they figured it out easily with my next hint?
What if they thought balloons were silly?
What if? What if? What if?
The pressure was rising. Was it in my head? No, even worse. It was in my bladder! I was going to pee! I couldn’t stop it! I talked faster, wishing someone would get it so I could run to the bathroom.
Come on…Come on…I thought. Finally, I heard it. “A balloon!” It was my teacher, who’d grown weary of the game and wary of the puddle around me. Desperate, I escaped to the bathroom. While I was there, the recess bell rang. I was grateful for the diversion, slipping smoothly out and trying to follow my peers.
“Marlena?”
Oh Fuck. (Only I didn’t think that because I was five.) Oh Golly. I was caught.
“I’m not angry. When you’re nervous that can happen. Just…go to the bathroom more often.”
I slunk away, chastened.
And that, my dear children who better fucking appreciate this story and not make fun of me because it was NOT MY IDEA TO WRITE THIS, is why a mysterious balloon is not worth a puddle of pee.
