One Sunday afternoon, my best friend, Kathyconnolly, and I were doing some exploring and walked into one of these vacant cul-de-sacs. (Kathyconnolly and I met in the gifted program in 7th grade. The irony of that based on the events I'm about to share is really quite priceless.) We saw a huge pile of broken beer bottles in the middle and in a moment of
Kathyconnolly, being the great and supportive friend that she is, told me I was an effing moron. Was I going to be deterred by her lack of joie de vivre? No way. Instead, I worked to persuade her about why this was a great idea. Notably, that "Loni Anderson had performed the same stunt on Circus of the Stars."
This is why I am not a lawyer. Can you just see me in the courtroom: "Your honor, the reason my client did this is because Loni Anderson did it on Circus of the Stars." It would come to be known in the law books as the "B-List Defense".
Anyway, bolstered by a confidence that is found only in the clinically insane (and Loni Anderson, apparently), I took off my (powder-blue) Docksiders and began my journey across the pile of (likely tetanus-ridden) smashed beer bottles. I made it approximately six inches in before my feet were shredded into bloody ribbons and I was screaming, "OW, OW, OW, OW, OW" while reaching for Kathyconnolly so she could rescue me from the jagged shards of hell.
I limped home, convincing her along the way that my parents didn't really need to hear about this little episode.
And by the way, here's my muse:
Big deal. I could have done it with the benefit of a beadazzled cape and a Loretta Swit introduction, too,