When I was 14, I broke my wrist very badly when rollerblading. It hurt. A lot. When they got me to the hospital, I was in enough of a shocked state that I couldn’t even walk myself inside.
When I heard the heart monitor go on, I was so out of it that I thought it meant I was going to die (previous to this experience, I had only seen heart monitors used in movies for when they flatline).
And I absolutely started crying when I realized my sister had (because she’d been told to) slipped flip-flops over my socks so I’d have shoes on at the hospital.
But I knew I was pitiful when my dad actually humored me by wiping off my face when I realized that (and started crying again bc of) my mascara wasn’t waterproof.
I looked like a badly dressed clown with a deformed arm that was about to die. Or at least, I thought so.
The nurses and my parents got a real kick out of it until they drugged me up with Demerol for the pain. Then I was too out of it to continue my fashion crisis rants. My mom and dad still tease me about that hospital trip.
Where is this going, you ask?
Well. It started snowing last night, and I wanted to run outside and see the flakes coming down. I wrapped a big feather comforter around myself and began dancing around in the snow like a big, goofy marshmallow. (Um, yes, we’ve established that I’m weird.) But right at the end of the video…you hear the 14-year-old in me rear her fashion-police head…
Just for the record, my mascara didn’t run last night.
But I did. Back inside where it was warm.
Enjoy the snow, Georgians!