Chewing On The Fodder of My Life

By

Shaniqua Dramboui (Jen)

I guess my last article brought chuckles to the people who read it.  Isn't that funny how people find humor in other people's pain,  like the man who wrecks on his bike...we let out a huge guffaw and then go help him up, (or call the ambulance depending on the amount of blood loss).

This realization that my pain is humor for others has inspired this next story.  If that's what people like, heck...I've got stories that will laugh you into a stroke.  Besides, my therapist says talking about it will hush the voices.

I was born in the seventies...the decade of bell bottoms and disco.  These influences alone have left glitches in my brain.  (My God, Doctor! That tumor looks just like a disco dance ball).

I grew up a tom boy.  Not by choice, but for survival.  My closest sibling was my brother and my mother never saw a problem with giving me his old clothes.  

"Oh, Sweetie!  Those black, white, and red plaid Tough Skins are so cute on you.  Now, let your brother out of that head lock."  

Secretly, I think since they already had two girls, they wanted another boy to complete the set.  They deny it but I know...the voices told me...Ouch!  Sorry.

In high school I had one of the most painful experiences of my life.  It was in my junior year in P.E.  I was borrowing a pair of shorts from one of my smaller friends--a little tight but we were playing softball and I NEVER miss softball--even if my shorts are flossing my butt cheeks.

I was playing catcher skillfully.  The shortstop threw a bullet to home to cut off the runner.  I squatted down to catch and tag like a pro.  The difference is the pro's shorts fit well and mine didn't.  As I squatted, physics took over.  My muscles flexed and just like the Incredible Hulk, I shredded my sorts in front of the entire class.  

"Pretty Underwear...Are those Calvin Kline?"

Noticing the draft, I stood up and backed slowly into the school so as to minimize the damage.  Needless to say, I called it a day.  Even the voices were too embarrassed to speak that day....Okay, not again.

So, you see, if you dig, (a seventies term for "like"--stupid decade!), other people's pain, then my life is a smorgasbord.  So bring your friends and your family.  The more the merrier--at least the voices say so...Ouch!...Okay...I'm sorry...I know, I'm not supposed to talk about you...Shut up!....No, you shut up.....No, not the bad place!

Stupid therapist...he said it would help.