THE GULLIBILITY FACTOR
It is a widely known fact among my family that, as a child, I was gullible. In fact, now that I think back on it, I was more than gullible. I don't know if there is a word that is stronger than gullible ... SUPER fleecable? Extra-strength dumb as a box of rocks???
Whatever it is called, I was that way.
As a child, my dad once convinced me that the Free Methodist Church was named such because they didn't take offerings.
When I was itty-bitty, he assured me that Amish pigs were different than the pigs we had around town. According to Papa, Amish pigs had beards! Do you know that I spent a good portion of a one day trip in Shipshewana, Indiana, looking for those ding-danged bearded pigs?
Then, once, when we took a trip across the border to Canada, my dad tag-teamed with my Uncle Ken to get me to believe that I needed to listen very carefully to the Canadians when they talked. "They speak a foreign language over there in that foreign country."
I embarrassed the whole car-load when I announced, loudly and obnoxiously, that the border guard didn't speak a different language. He spoke English like the rest of us.
The guard was not impressed in the least!
Having been molded under many of my father's stupid, hair-brained stories, I've always felt like I am impervious to that crap as an adult.
That is until last night ...
In order to be at the Turkey Thingy Banquet, where there was much libation to be had, if you were of legal age, you had to wear a plastic bracelet thingy. I have sensitive skin. So, after about 3 hours wearing that stupid bracelet, my wrist was driving me crazy.
I turned to Erin and asked if she knew whether Joe had a pair of scissors in his Box O' Turkey Thingy Tricks.
Erin immediately turned to a friend of theirs that had been hanging out with us and said to him, "Hey, do you have a jack-knife we could borrow to cut off Megan's bracelet?"
He looked right at me, straight-faced, and said, "Nope, but I've got a straight-edged knife in my boot."
Now, you should know that I get this look on my face when I am desperately trying to process whether someone has told me something that sounds suspiciously like crap, but does have a hint of plausibility. This face is me, with my mouth sort of hanging open in an imbecile meets Barbie kind of way ... I am sure it's extremely attractive and ever so alluring.
So, I am looking at this guy with my "Imbecile Meets Barbie" look, and Erin rolls her eyes and announces, "You are so full of crap!"
"Oh good!" I say, relieved. Erin just looks at me with this "I can't believe you fell for that" look.
I told my mother about it today, and I think I heard her fall off of her chair, immediately proceeded by, "Oh Megan! You didn't believe that, did you? Good grief!"
I WAS AT A TURKEY BANQUET THINGY SURROUNDED BY MEN THAT WERE SALIVATING OVER PUMP-ACTION SHOT GUNS!!!! He could, very well, have had a knife in his boot! It seemed logical at the time ...
Right?
Whatever it is called, I was that way.
As a child, my dad once convinced me that the Free Methodist Church was named such because they didn't take offerings.
When I was itty-bitty, he assured me that Amish pigs were different than the pigs we had around town. According to Papa, Amish pigs had beards! Do you know that I spent a good portion of a one day trip in Shipshewana, Indiana, looking for those ding-danged bearded pigs?
Then, once, when we took a trip across the border to Canada, my dad tag-teamed with my Uncle Ken to get me to believe that I needed to listen very carefully to the Canadians when they talked. "They speak a foreign language over there in that foreign country."
I embarrassed the whole car-load when I announced, loudly and obnoxiously, that the border guard didn't speak a different language. He spoke English like the rest of us.
The guard was not impressed in the least!
Having been molded under many of my father's stupid, hair-brained stories, I've always felt like I am impervious to that crap as an adult.
That is until last night ...
In order to be at the Turkey Thingy Banquet, where there was much libation to be had, if you were of legal age, you had to wear a plastic bracelet thingy. I have sensitive skin. So, after about 3 hours wearing that stupid bracelet, my wrist was driving me crazy.
I turned to Erin and asked if she knew whether Joe had a pair of scissors in his Box O' Turkey Thingy Tricks.
Erin immediately turned to a friend of theirs that had been hanging out with us and said to him, "Hey, do you have a jack-knife we could borrow to cut off Megan's bracelet?"
He looked right at me, straight-faced, and said, "Nope, but I've got a straight-edged knife in my boot."
Now, you should know that I get this look on my face when I am desperately trying to process whether someone has told me something that sounds suspiciously like crap, but does have a hint of plausibility. This face is me, with my mouth sort of hanging open in an imbecile meets Barbie kind of way ... I am sure it's extremely attractive and ever so alluring.
So, I am looking at this guy with my "Imbecile Meets Barbie" look, and Erin rolls her eyes and announces, "You are so full of crap!"
"Oh good!" I say, relieved. Erin just looks at me with this "I can't believe you fell for that" look.
I told my mother about it today, and I think I heard her fall off of her chair, immediately proceeded by, "Oh Megan! You didn't believe that, did you? Good grief!"
I WAS AT A TURKEY BANQUET THINGY SURROUNDED BY MEN THAT WERE SALIVATING OVER PUMP-ACTION SHOT GUNS!!!! He could, very well, have had a knife in his boot! It seemed logical at the time ...
Right?
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