Stories I Already Told In the Comment Sections of Other People's Blogs Because I Cannot Make Myself Shut Up Sometimes:
1. I actually drew a cartoon to illustrate this story, but my scanner won't scan it. Aargh. This is a story from Stefanie's comment section.
When I was in the fifth grade, I decided to play kickball at recess one day. Why? I am not sure. I am horribly coordinated and slow (a very sporty combination).
It was my turn to kick and the pitcher rolled the ball to me. I kicked it as hard as I could. The ball flew through the air... for about two feet.
"No bunting!" yelled the first baseman.
"That's cheating!" yelled the pitcher.
"No bunting! No bunting!" chorused the other team.
The sad part is that I had kicked the ball as hard as I could. To save face, I said, "Sorry! I didn't know there was no bunting!" I had to kick again, and it didn't go any farther. The pitcher looked at me with such pity. And I have never played kickball since.
2. And now a story from Laurie's comment section.
H and I went to DSW or Famous Footwear or something along those lines to buy shoes. When we got to the cash register, the cashier asked us for our zip code.
I said my work zip code. "Wait, I don't think that's right," I said. "H, what's our zip code?"
H said a 5 digit sequence that was most definitely not our zip code.
"That's not right," I said. I suggested a different zip code.
"Oh my God," H said. "I can't believe you don't know our zip code!"
"You don't know our zip code either," I told him.
"Yes, I do! It's xxxxx!" H insisted.
"That is not our zip code!" I said.
The cashier, a high school girl, looked at us like we were the most annoying customers she had ever seen. Do people not normally get into fights about their zip codes at the shoe store?
After further argument, we just gave the cashier 5 random numbers, paid for our shoes, and finally left the store.
When we got to the car, H checked his driver's license, and we discovered that we were both wrong about our zip code. We are freaking geniuses.