Tell Me A Secret

Okay, so it started off as one of those Scentsy party games. My 16-year-old cousin who calls herself Lynn *eye roll* came up with games to act as icebreakers for the party. I didn’t see the point since the only people there were family and friends of the family. My mother, sister, aunt, sister-in-law, her mother, and her best friend. It was a small party.

Anyway, Lynn (I roll my eyes every time I think that) gave us two games to play. One was something like name the nursery rhyme from the news headline. You know, goofy stuff like “King’s Man is Permanently Maimed” or something like that. It was fun, but we had no chance against the elementary school teacher. Hello…she lived this stuff for years! She won, of course.

Then it was time for the “Write Down a Secret Wish or Something No One Else Knows About You” game. Do you know how hard this is considering we’re all family? In my family at least, we love to rehash old embarrassments. It’s how we relate with each other. You know:

Brother: Hey, remember when I put peanut butter on the toilet paper and slapped it on Uncle B’s face and he thought it was something else? HA. HA. HA.


Brother: Remember when I gave B a doggy treat and told him it was beef jerky?!
B: You ate it! I thought if you ate it, it was okay!
Brother: I know! It was priceless!

So really, nothing is sacred in my family, but I managed to come up with a secret embarrassment none of them knew about. I’ve mentioned it before in my post about paranoia, but I’m going to expand a bit:

When I was in college, my friends and I were band nerds. We didn’t party. On the weekends, we’d hang out and watch movies. When the urge to do something rose, we usually ended up at the 24-hour grocery store looking for snacks. One particular night, we were goofing around. My friend’s boyfriend clicked his heels. My friend did as well. They looked at me expectantly.

Now, let’s get something straight here. I am not, and never have been, the kind of person who goes around clicking their heels just for the hell of it. What’s the purpose? I’m not happy-go-lucky so it wasn’t something I’d ever practiced. But I thought, “What the hell, it’s just jumping up a couple of inches and slamming your heels together, right?”

Ah, stupid, foolish youth. We were in the cookie aisle. No one was around except my friends. I jumped, clicked my heels, and somehow my feet got tangled together. Since I hadn’t jumped very high (have I mentioned how not athletic I am?), I had no time to untangle my awkward feet, and fell. Right into the bin of cookies. Meh. I still cringe at the memory. I mean really…had the bead up the nose incident (a story for another day) not taught me anything? Peer pressure is a bitch and at 20, I was still caving!

So that’s what I put on that paper at the party. Everyone else had things like “I want to go to South Africa and swim with white sharks” (Yeah that is SO not me, or anyone in my family), or “My first vehicle was a truck”, or “Barbies” (My sister…she couldn’t come up with anything else and she has not a single Barbie doll to her name and hasn’t since she was 10). Yet only two people got my secret. It was a good one, I thought.

Now that I have that out of the way, do you want to tell me a secret? It can be a secret wish (not “getting published” because that is SO not a secret here), or a secret embarrassment. C’mon now, we’re all friends!

Also, heading back to the hospital with mom tomorrow for the surgery that wasn’t to become the surgery that was. Or something like that. I’ll be posting on Twitter and Facebook throughout the day (or as my phone signal allows). And of course, I’ll have a post about it later because something is bound to happen.


Filed under Family

6 responses to “Tell Me A Secret

  1. You are so funny Danica! I’ve missed your blogs this week! I’ve been head under covers with strep throat.
    I hope your mom’s surgery goes well!! Keep us informed.

  2. KAK

    In this, our families are very similar. Rehashing our, er, finer moments often results in the women of my family sliding out of our chairs in fits of laughter.

    Revealing to my rather Victorian father the dastardly deeds my sister (Dr. Frankenstein) and moi (Igor) committed under the guise of being his sweet angelic little girls…well, those moments are priceless.

    My secret: A bucket of building blocks + a poobell of water = spectacular waterfall down spiraling marble stairs.

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