I know I said I'd post on Friday. Surprise surprise, I didn't. And for that, I apologize to the three people who might actually read this. I can say that I will try to make up for this indiscretion by posting multiple times today (although I probably won't).Speaking of indiscretions, remember the kind you used to make in your youth? Of course you do. We all have them and we all remember them. Maybe you took more than the excusable amount from the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny tray, or sold duplicate cassette tapes of a popular Billy Joel album; or maybe you shot your friend in the leg with a gun on a dare. We've all been there.
But what often seems most memorable is not the actual act or any sort of lingering
regret (carpe diem!), but rather the lame adolescent excuse you came up with at the time to cover up your juvenile transgression. (WARNING: NOSTALGIC REMINISCING STORY APPROACHING. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK).When I was 17, in the prime of my youth, I lost a shoe at a party. This might seem like a pretty trivial point, and it is. After all, material items are fleeting and un-fulfilling (I think Dee Snider said that). But what makes this point absolutely crucial is that I lost it while running up the snow-covered embankment of the backyard of the house which contained the party I was trying to flee as it was being raided by cops.
What makes the loss of the shoe important is that it was about 20 degrees out, and my now-exposed foot was in the process of going numb, which made it increasing difficult and subsequently impossible to keep up with the flock of fellow teenagers who darted down the steets and off to safety, leaving me behind like the wounded deer that I was.
I was, of course, quickly discovered by the police, hobbling down the road slumped over the shoulder of one of my friends who had been kind enough to stay with me. And what did I say to the police when questioned? That we had been walking down the street when we were ransacked by a mob of drug crazed teenagers who had knocked me down in their mad dash, causing me to lose my shoe and render me helpless.
The point is, we all did stupid things when we were kids. And we all made up ridiculous stories to cover them up. If for nothing else, we did this out of necessity, because the only thing that would make these acts seem less egregious is an over-the-top story that only a feeble, undeveloped mind could concoct. Ahhh, those were the days...I guess what I'm saying is, if you're going to shoot your friend in the leg, try to come up with a better story than "I found him with a gunshot wound." At the very least, throw one of his shoes into the woods. Also, if he's bet you that you won't shoot him, make sure that you only minorly wound him when you do shoot him, because he needs to be in stable enough condition to ante-up to the terms of your wager.
PS - I'm aware of the irony that, in this event, it WAS my sock.
