from the lyndie files. a memoirs post.
And once again I am feeling a bit of bloglessness. So, I thought I would write a piece of my memoirs since I’ve been trying to type out little childhood thoughts from my past bit by bit before these last two brain cells fizzle out and I forget everything forever.
It is highly probable that some or most or all of you will find the following a little bit less than interesting and for that I’m so very sorry. However, you just might find a slight glimmer of something that resembles something that you may or may not consider to be funny in this post if you can make it past this paragraph. My kids have heard this story and have found it unbelievably hilarious that their mom, the lady with all the rules, actually did stuff that was less-than-good way back when she was just a girl with a bike called Lyndie. The girl. Not the bike. I was the girl and my nickname was Lyndie. My bike didn’t have a name. That was before the era of naming inanimate objects.
Once upon a time when I was a lot less old than I am now there was a girl named April who lived down the street. April happened to be my younger sister’s BFF and we were always hanging out down at her place playing on her jungle gym or arguing over who got to be married to Kirk Cameron or waiting for her big brother to make an appearance. He was totally a teenager and always needed to shave. Plus, he smoked out in the side yard and that fascinated me because his mom was scary. She wouldn’t let April watch PG movies and had rules and stuff. She and I would probably get on pretty well if we met today.
After getting permission to go play at April’s house one day I jumped on my bike and headed towards her house. Instead of stopping in, however, I rode right on past. I had the weight of precious change-money in my pocket and there was this little convenience store a few blocks away and they had chocolate for sale.
I pedaled quickly to the store and bought a bunch of Kit Kat bars. Then, I stopped at April’s for a few minutes on my way back so that my sister, who had been spending the day there, would say I had been there if questioned. I needed all my bases covered.
It was at April’s house, however, that I realized the one flaw in my plan. It was a hot summer day in Charleston, SC. The chocolate bars were melting in my pocket and I hadn’t yet thought of a place to eat my contraband. If my sister saw it she would definitely tell so I couldn’t eat them at Aprils.
Carrie, really, you were such a tattle tale. You really did make my deviousness a little more difficult. I always had to work around you. But you were just so cute with all your freckles and everything. I couldn’t even be mad at you for it.
I remember one time on our way to school I was buying some small candies at the store for a quarter to sell to my friends at school for 50 cents because we were allowed to eat candy in English class. You told the cashier what I was up to because you thought my little money making scheme was wrong and I was so sure I was going to be arrested or something.
That was scary and I wondered why you wanted me to possibly go to jail. Why, Carrie? Why did you want me to be arrested?
Anyway, melting chocolate in my pocket. Lots of it.
I decided the best thing to do at that moment was to go home. I felt that in the privacy of the bathroom I could figure out how to stash my chocolate until I could think of a good place to consume it without being found out.
I pulled up into the yard, put my kickstand down, went inside and made a bee line to the bathroom. There I pulled the bars out of my pocket a laid the squishy mess out onto the bathroom counters and just stared, my mind realing with thoughts of how to fix my quandry as chocolate puddles formed on the countertop. I wondered, What would MacGyver do?
MacGyver would use the chocolate to stop a nuclear disaster and would save the day and the world and all humanity, and that would effectively get him out of any trouble he would have been in for sneaking chocolate. I figured that wouldn’t work in my current situation.
I noticed that the goodness had smeared itself on other surfaces besides my pocket and the counter. I had it all over my hands. So, I did what any smart child would do in this situation and licked my chocolate covered thumb. It only took that one lick for me to become completely intoxicated by chocolate and I began obnoxiously shoveling the melting confectionaries into my mouth as quick as possible. It was a beautifully chocolaty moment of sweet cocoa bliss.
Until Mom. She had spotted me as I streaked into the house and just knew I was up to something so she came and knocked on the bathroom door. I tried being silent for a minute but that didn’t fool her. So I told her I was just using the toilet but she didn’t fall for that either. Probably because my voice sounded muffled like I was possibly shoveling chocolate into my mouth and it was coming from beside the bathroom door instead of further away where it would have come from had I actually been using the toilet.
She told me to open the door. I had only a moment to figure out a plan and decided to smartly stuff the rest of the Kit Kats into my mouth and chew as fast as I could. Then I opened the door feeling quite sure I had hidden my indiscretion just in the nick of time.
Not so much.
You know in that moment where you suddenly realise that you aren’t being nearly as clever as you thought you were? Well, I wasn’t even clever enough to realise I wasn’t all that clever. Because, while my mom had an incredible intuition, it wasn’t her mommy senses tingling that got me busted. It was my own idiocy.
It could have been the chocolate on my face that clued my mother into my crime. Or it could have been the chocolate on my hands. Or the chocolate all over the bathroom counter. Or it could have been the wrappers I failed to properly dispose of. Take your pick. And I stood there acting completely innocent. What?
I wasn’t the smartest of criminals.
In the end she was so disappointed in me. Either because I tried to deceive her and thought her so dumb as to not catch me. Or maybe it was because I’d shown myself to not be as smart as she liked to think I was.
Which ever it was, I think most people who were children one time can agree that mom being disappointed in us is a punishment all in itself. And while I don’t recall the exact consequence I can assure you my mama took the appropriate measures.
I would like to end this post by saying that I learned my lesson and never snuck chocolate again. But that would be untrue. Not only did I sneak chocolate again, but mama caught me the next time, too. I really didn’t need my sister to tell on me for things because I was pretty stellar at getting myself busted all on my own. I guess I was never as sneaky as I thought I was.
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