(Ford's store, where I bought my stash of goodies.) My sister, Lisa, recently sent me to a blog posting here because a couple of the confessions reminded her of me. I enjoyed the posting and was prompted to clear my conscience of a few of my own past misdeeds. So here goes:
1. I confess to cheating in 9th grade English. I sat next to the cutest blonde boy in the school and I had a terrible crush on him. When we were supposed to be diagramming sentences, he leaned over and whispered, "Can I see yours?" I slid my paper over to the edge of my desk and he copied my diagrams. The smile he gave me when he got a perfect score completely made up for the damnation to my soul. Unfortunately, he didn't fall in love with me because of my diagramming abilities, as I'd hoped he would. I've left out the handsome blonde's name to spare him the humiliation of the world knowing he can't diagram sentences.
2. I confess to getting completely addicted to General Hospital the summer I babysat the Nielsen kids. I had to put the kids to bed for a nap at 12:30, so that gave me time to run up the hill behind their house and adjust the giant television antenna that sat on top of the hill (it was a decent-sized hill, too) and get back in time to watch the Luke and Laura hour in peace before the kids got back up.
3. I confess to throwing away an awful shirt with pandas and buddhas on it that my husband really liked. He actually bought it for an ugly-shirt party and it was appropriate for that purpose, but every so often he'd drag it out and wear it around the house because it was "so comfortable" (or just to annoy me). I not only got rid of it against his wishes, I pretended to look for it when he couldn't find it to help convince him I wasn't responsible for its disappearance.
4. I confess to taking credit for a gift I didn't give. My friend, Lisa, thanked me for the flowers she'd received for her birthday. I didn't give them to her, but I was confused about what she was talking about and not very quick on my feet, so I just said, "You're welcome." What 12-year-old girl gives her friend flowers? The tag said "Love, Kari." Not my spelling of Karey, but strangely, it's the way her aunt spelled it.
5. I confess to being so sad that I could only have four kids that I let my youngest sleep with us way, way, way too long. I won't give an exact age, but let's just say he sleeps in his own bed now, is smart and well-adjusted and so even though I met with much disapproval, I don't regret it.
6. I confess to putting a thermometer under hot water or against the lightbulb on my lamp to prove (falsely) that I was sick enough to stay home from school. Dad had a rule that we had to go to school unless we had a fever. I'm pretty sure Mom had me figured out though. What else would explain not rushing your daughter to the hospital when she had a fever over 105 degrees?
7. I confess to trying Vicki Gappmeyer's makeup when I babysat. Her bathroom was filled with eyeshadows in beautiful colors, blushes and eyeliners. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup yet and her array of beauty products were too much of a temptation. I always washed my face thoroughly before they got home.
8. I confess to taking some of my babysitting money to Ford's Store in Wallsburg and buying my own bag of Cheeto's and my own M&Ms that I hid in my drawer and enjoyed all by myself. Okay, on occasion I'd give some to one of my sisters if they'd help me clean my room or some other unpleasant task.
9. I confess to telling my husband we won a night at Anniversary Inn on a radio contest. (I have fairly good luck at radio contests, so he believed me.) We'd been married four years and I wanted us to have a little getaway, but I knew he'd say we couldn't afford it. We had a great time and I confessed to him that I hadn't won it about a year later.
10. I confess to riding a motorcycle while I was in college. My Grandpa Higginson hated motorcycles and called them murdercycles because of the number of people he knew who had either died or been seriously hurt while riding them. His dying request was that his posterity not ride motorcycles. When I was invited to go up the canyon for a picnic with a funny, charming and good-looking guy from my college writing class, I hesitated only briefly before saying yes. I felt my grandpa watching me the whole trip and wondered what I'd say to him when I greeted him on the other side if my life ended in a violent crash on this little picnic. I've never ridden a motorcycle again. Sorry Grandpa.
Feel free to share any confessions you'd like. I'm sure you'll feel a lot better.
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Our last year in college, we lived across the parking lot from my sister and her husband. We were very close, the four of us. We also all had cable as it came with the apartment. Mr. P was an Alfred Hitchcock aficionado. He had arranged his schedule to be home to watch it or had it recorded to view later. He carefully noted the date he viewed each episode. We often turned it on as well.
One night, I turned on "Alfred Hitchcock Presents". There was a torchlight singer leaning/laying on a piano in an old-time night club. There were gangster types in the club and one seemed to be her boyfriend. Her name was Peaches. I can still see the scene. I was preparing dinner and really didn't pay attention to the opening. I got a call a few minutes into the program. It was Mr. P, who had arrived home a little late. He needed the title of the episode. Off the cuff, I said, "Whatever happened to Peaches." I don't remember if I saw the rest of the episode.
What I do know is that when Mr. P eventually bought an anthology of the episodes of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents", he went through noting which episodes he had seen.
I later heard that he wrote a letter to the publisher informing them that an episode was missing. What to do?!? Mr. P is a careful journal keeper. You could win a business dispute with the documentation he keeps, maybe even a lawsuit. I couldn't face him.
Finally a few years after That, I knelt before him and confessed. "I even wrote to the publisher!" "I know; I am so sorry!" As I tried not to laugh as I imagined the baffled publisher as he wondered what that poor person was smoking the night that "Whatever Happened to Peaches" aired.
And I still don't know what the name of the episode is.
i have nothing to confess.
kidding... i will have to think about it though.