So I have this friend, right? Let's call her JJ. To protect the innocent or the not so innocent. She is obsessed with the fact that I threw up in fourth grade. Maybe it was third. Now, as a child I threw up and cried a lot. I was tooootally that kid. I was called to the front office in second grade because I had been crying, nonstop, for three hours. My mother was called, and it turned out I was upset because I couldn't spell something. I was sensitive! I still am! Stop Laughing!
Now the slumber party throw up story was first told to Miss JJ in college. God only knows what year it was and how much beer we had in our system. And I hesitate to retell it because it will never be as funny as the first time I told it. But it goes a little something like this:
I was the new kid, and was invited to Jennifer Sartore's slumber party. The whole female population of fourth grade was, I'm pretty sure. The details of the evening aren't too important, but, suffice it to say, we stayed up way to late giggling. I probably was the first to fall asleep because I am super uncool like that. But that also meant I was the first to wake up. When I did, I could smell the delicious scent of pancakes wafting down the stairs to the basement where we had all crashed out.
Oh wait, tangent! I once woke up at home to the delicious smell of cooking pancakes and got out of bed and ran toward the kitchen so quickly that I blacked out and fell down the stairs. I really like pancakes.
Anyway, I went upstairs and Mrs. Sartore was cooking up all kinds of pancakes. There were fruit ones, chocolate chip ones. It was a huge fucking smorgasbord of pancakes. I sat down, and just as I finished my first serving people started getting up. As I finished my second helping, all the little girls were astounded by how many pancakes I could put away. I finished a third offering and decided I wanted to go lay down. I returned to my sleeping bag, and started feeling not so good. I blame the stress of trying to impress new friends and too little sleep. And too many pancakes. I didn't make it to the bathroom. I threw up right between my sleeping bag and the wall. It was all too much. I was so humiliated I used my sleeping bag to cover it up, layed down and went to sleep. I woke up just a little bit later, surrounded by the girls, Jennifer screaming for her mother. The hits just kept on coming. I was crying. Jennifer's mom was trying to get my mom's phone number from me, but I was hysterical. She had to pick me up like a baby and deposit me in the bathroom upstairs before I calmed down enough to clean up and call my mom. I never went back downstairs. I think my mom must have, to get my stuff and my soiled sleeping bag. I was a wreck, inconsolable. I don't know how I went to school on Monday.
See? It's a terrible story. A poor awkward girl makes a laughingstock of herself. Maybe JJ likes the story because I'm so different now than how I was as a child, but that isn't true. I just cry a little less. Maybe it's because we all felt a certain amount of embarassment as kids. I think mostly, she just likes the phrase, "It was all too much and had too many pancakes."
And please write my college recommendation soon!!!!