Thursday, December 02, 2010

Danger Girl??

The NaBloPoMo writing prompt is: What's the most dangerous thing you've ever done?

I really need to think about this. The first thing I that came to mind was rollercoasters, but really, I don't think of them as dangerous. Thrilling, maybe, dangerous, no.  There were a couple of times where I was in danger as a child, though it was never my intent to be in danger. I will tell you about those and you can decide.

When I was around three-years-old I was at my grandparents. I was inside of their car and my parents and aunt and uncle were washing the car. My grandparents lived at the top of this very steep hill. Can you already see where this is going? So I was messing around with the things on the dashboard and turning the steering wheel and somehow I have managed not only to disengage the emergency brake, but I also took the car out of park and it started going down the hill. Everyone was screaming and trying to stop the car with their bodies. Fortunately, the way it had been parked it ended up not going very far or very fast until it hit a  little curb surrounding my grandparent's landscape. The car went up the curb and was stopped by a bush. My grandma was angry with the adults. I did not get in trouble. A bonus of being three.

When I was around four, I was in my grandparents' swimming pool. Yes, the same grandparents where the runaway car incident happened. My grandpa was on pool duty keeping an eye on me from a lawn chair on his patio. I was doing my usual trick of holding on to the edge of the pool with my hands and pushing my feet against the wall of the pool so I could scoot myself around the perimeter of the pool.   Somehow, I managed to push myself far away enough from the edge that I couldn't doggie paddle back and I sunk like a rock. There I was, flailing in an attempt to reach the surface when all of a sudden there's my grandpa under the water with all of his clothes on including his glasses! Grandpa saved me! There was a funny (sort of) story to tell when the rest of the relatives got there for dinner that night.

So that is about it, unless you want to count the times I went off-campus for lunch with my boyfriend (we were allowed to go off-campus for lunch, but my mom didn't want me to. The boyfriend did not go to my school and had already graduated) and went somewhere to make out. Nothing happened beyond that, but I very much was NOT supposed to have done that, and one time I was so late for my next class that there was only fifteen minutes left, but I went anyway because I didn't want it to be a blatant cut. If you are marked tardy, they don't say how tardy you are.

You could also count the time that I dated this guy whom I will only refer to as "psycho-boy." Really, he was a man, but I'm trying to keep things light here and "psycho-man" seems to have a slightly heavier ring to it. In the interest of keeping things light, I will only mention that there were midnight drunken phone calls (from him), I would come out in the morning to find my tires slashed on more than one occasion, sugar in my gas tank (which does nothing, by the way), and crazy glue in the keyholes of my car (which also doesn't do much because it's pretty easy to just jab your key right through that).  This was from an almost 40-year-old man.

So you decide-- my joy ride? The near drowning? sneaking off with my boyfriend? or dating a clearly unstable person?



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