Wet Willy

Growing up, when we went to a party my sisters and all of the other kids were always lost in a made up world somewhere else.  I, on the other hand, loved to sit at the table and listen to my parents and their friends tell stories and relive the Before Kids Days.  My favorites were the college stories, the post-college stories, and the ones from my dad's annual camping trips (the one that had to come to an end when he left my mom home alone with a one-month old very colicky baby who now enjoys telling these stories herself).  Of course, most of them involved alcohol... and extreme amounts of it.  Going to a dry school I thought/ was kind of sad I'd be missing these stories from my life.  Well, I'm not.  Mine just involve less (read "no") alcohol.

One thing I've never really understood is why my mom had the audacity to give Mark--a man she's not married to--a wet willy just for sassing her.  When I witnessed this first hand, boys still had coodies, and there was no way I would be getting anywhere near them much less close enough to stick my tongue in their ears.  Well, I now have friends who are male, and I discovered this weekend that it's only a matter of time before Nikki, Elizabeth, and Andy get hard core wet willies (no finger).

I was giving my goodnight hugs on Saturday night when Elizabeth and Andy were on the Platonic Loveseat being, well, not very platonic.  Instead of asking for goodnight hugs, I plunked myself down on the couch between them.  Half of me was on top of Andy and the other half on top of Elizabeth.  In about, oh, 1.5 seconds flat they flipped me on my back in the fetal position.  Amy and Jennifer watched this whole deal and said all they could see of me were my knees.  Not good!

"Watch my glasses!"
"Take them off!"
"No!  Then I'm consenting to this rough housing.  I don't consent!  I don't consent!"
"Ooooh!  Is she ticklish?!"
I am, but they didn't know that, and I sure as heck wasn't telling them.

Elizabeth and Andy decided the only thing to do to me in this situation was to lick me.  Are we not past this game yet!?  Elizabeth had the bottom half of my body in her lap, so she chose to lick the back of my right hand, not a big deal, I can wash that once I get free.  Andy had my upper half and opted for the top of my head.  I wasn't planning on showering before bed, thanks.

"I really want to lick her forehead," Elizabeth confessed.  It's kind of a long-term goal, and they had me in the proper position.  It was one of those "now or never" situations, and my goal was to make it a "never."

"Wouldn't that be awful?!  She could just watch your tongue coming the whole time!"

Yes, that would be awful.  I slapped my forearm to my forehead and held it tightly.  All of the sudden there was a firm grasp on my wrist as Andy gently but forcefully pulled my hand away from my face.  He's a "medical person;" he's done that before.  Not fair!  Elizabeth moved in for the kill but I beat her to the punch as my knees rapidly collided with my face.  Word of advice: don't do that on a regular basis.  A few more minutes of struggle and Elizabeth finally settled... her wet finger into my ear.  Much further into my ear than a finger should go, I might add.  I pushed her away with my feet and shoved Andy off of the couch.  No winding up before bed... de-rile, de-rile.

I don't know if our three-on-a-couch experience will stand the test of time and be placed among the great "college stories" in my repertoire, but I do know that at the next opportunity they both will be receiving true business wet willies, tongue meet ear style.

<>< Katie

καλός

As a part of one of my classes, we have a weekly tradition of singing an ancient Greek song. It wasn't, so we made up a reason to sing. Sometimes we sing because someone's sick. Sometimes we sing because someone's feeling better. Sometimes we sing for birthdays. Sometimes we make up fake birthdays. Sometimes we sing just because we want to sing. On Monday the professor asked if it was anybody's birthday. It wasn't, but my half birthday is this week. I told him that and he decided that was a good enough reason to sing.

I was then forced to come to the front of the room and stand directly in the light from the LCD projector onto the screen. Instead of allowing me to stand there and look silly, he put my hands on my head and I kind of looked like a moose. (This is the same professor I ran into at IHOP two weeks ago with his grandkids, and I wanted to shoot a straw wrapper across the restaurant at him. He told me he wished I would have not because I would have hit him, but because it would have been funny to watch me try). Anyway.

I stood there and they all sang to me in Greek. When we finished, he looked at me with my moose antlers being blinded by the LCD projector, and noticed something. New Testament Survey class turned sermon for a moment there. Jesus's name was being projected on my forehead (ok, it was really the first five letters of "Jerusalem", but I moved and then we got "Jesus" on my forehead). Shouldn't having Jesus on our forehead's being the goal of all people? Living so He is seen instead of us should be the ultimate reason to sing.

καλός
<>< Katie