Thursday, August 21, 2014

Shoots and Ladders

Nerves are trying to get the best of me as I am currently immersed in the final hours leading up to my GRE exam. I keep trying to tell myself that the end is near, and soon all of this mind-boggling information can escape from my memory. 

In an attempt to quell the snakes of tension which are currently slithering around in my stomach I called one of my friends this morning to distract me. She had the pleasure of knowing me in high school during a time where I constantly had to sneak out to see friends or go get Jack in the Box curly fries. I will spare you the sob story of an overprotective set of parents; however I do understand to a degree not wanting your teenager to eat curly fries... they are after all the devil. 

Most of the time I was able to outlast my mother’s bedtime and I would sneak downstairs, climb through dog doors and run across a poop filled back yard where I treated each mound of shit as a land mine. Once I arrived at my car I would put it in neutral, roll it out of the driveway, and use, if necessary, my poop cleaning kit.

Some nights mom would burn the midnight oil. Being that I was on the second story I had to get creative with tactics of escape; fire escape ladders, trying to tie sheets together (this does NOT work), a rope and climbing gloves, one time even just jumping from the second story window onto the concrete driveway where I thought I had broken my legs…

Today on the phone I was reminded of one such time where creativity was not my best. I had been dating a boyfriend with a very similar last name as mine. To spare the embarrassment I will not state that last name here. Our last names were not identical it was as if my last name was Thompson and his last name was Thympsan. He kindly brought over his father’s ladder so that I could climb down to safety and attend a soirĂ©e of sorts. When I arrived back home I had forgotten that we left the ladder positioned below my bedroom window, and I climbed in through my regular route the dog doors.

I awoke the next morning to screaming. I went downstairs to determine what the ruckus was and my father began questioning me about the ladder. I was still half asleep so my reasoning was a mumbling of “gee, I am not sure whose ladder that could be.” I was dragged outside and affronted with the vision of the ladder propped up against the side of the house. I then caught the word “Thympsan” sloppily written across the side of it.'Shoot,' I thought.

Me: Dad, that is your ladder- see you wrote your name on it

Dad: That is NOT my name!

Me: Yes it is; you always did have poor penmanship.

I saw the look of confusion and bewilderment flash across my dad’s face as I turned on my heel and went back upstairs to “sleep,” where I worried the rest of the day that I had been discovered. 

Eventually I did come clean about this incident, along with all of the others. I got caught sneaking out finally about six months later when I was 17, and already in college. My mom told me if she caught me again I would have to move out. She also finally gave me a curfew and allowed me out of the house for reasons other than my full time job or attending college classes. I moved out a few days before my 18th birthday. The rest is history... But I do know my dad still has "Mr. Thympsan's" ladder...
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