Say It Ain't So

After the Northview football game, during the week of the National Peanut Festival in 11^th grade, the year we won the state championship (I think it was the Dothan High game, but it could have been Enterprise or the first round of the playoffs; regardless, a BIG game and we WON), a crowd of us spent the night with Dana. We had her mother’s permission to go to Midnight Madness at the fair. I didn’t ask Mama’s permission, because I knew she wouldn’t let me go. I kinda just didn’t mention it and crossed my fingers. It was very important for my social standing that I be there. And it was a lot of fun.

In college, I didn’t always wear a slip with my sundresses. I would tell my roomies, “Don’t tell Starla.” 

Whenever my elementary school neighbor and BFF Becky Byrd came to my house to play, she ALWAYS asked for a drink of water. Mama told me not to ask for things when I went to a friend’s house to play, and it greatly annoyed me that Becky was thirsty all the time. So, one time, I told her that she had to memorize all the verses of “Amazing Grace” before I would get her some water. AND SHE DID IT! I would have hopped on my 10-speed and slung my hair the whole way home if she had required the same of me. But she was much nicer than I was. And she liked to play with me, so it was kinda her fault, too.

I broke Rule #4. I kissed Chuck in the laundry room at Lake Forest Ranch.

I cried when I heard Princess Diana died. I sent Chuck and the 2 three-year-olds to the Conner family reunion in Mississippi without me and stayed home and watched the funeral all by myself. I had gotten up at 3:00 am for her wedding, so I was invested.

When I was 6 years old, my family went to Homecoming and Dinner on the Ground with my grandparents at Pinckard Baptist Church. In Sunday school, the teacher asked all the children how old they were. EVERYBODY was older than I was. When the teacher asked me, I said, “Seven.” I was immediately overcome with fright (not guilt). I couldn’t sit still in Big Church for fretting that the teacher was going to come to my parents at lunch and say, “I can’t believe that Celeste is already SEVEN!”

“She’s not 7; she’s 6.”

“Well, she told us in Sunday school that she is 7.”

“Young Lady! YOU LIED IN SUNDAY SCHOOL?!?!”

I fretted every time I went back to church there—until I turned 7. To this day, I’m not a very good liar. I wish I could say it was the condition of my heart, but actually, it’s just too stressful.

And then there was the time that a bird flew over and pooped right on Evelyn’s head. She was squealing for me to get the poop out of her hair when Becky Byrd rode up on her bike. I told her it was whipped cream and asked her to get it out. Of course, she did.

I color in coloring books . . . a lot . . . with Sharpies. My daughters don’t mind that I color, but they think it’s a sacrilege that I use markers.

I never owned Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors, but I did own Andy Gibb's Shadow Dancing. 

A few years ago, when my children were in the same elementary school together and I still drove a van, I dropped them off at school and headed to Chickfila for a biscuit and sweet tea. I got rear-ended merging onto the Circle. During morning rush hour traffic, I had to get out of my car when the police got there to check my bumper. I had on my flannel rubber-ducky jammies.

I’m a little in love with Alton Brown, the nerdy chef on Food Network. I used to love Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs and Deadliest Catch, but I’m so over him.

Mama’s first cousin, Sue Ann, tied a little girl to the railroad tracks by the sashes of her dress just because she was pretty. I wish I could lay claim to that story. I bet Becky Byrd sure is glad that I can’t.

The summer after Chuck and I got married, we went to Amelia Island with Mark and Jordan for several days. We used the time share with her dad’s work. While the boys golfed one afternoon, the girls shopped, and . . . I bought a bikini. It was really more of a two-piece, but my belly button showed:

[I] was afraid to come out of the locker.

[I] was as nervous as [I] could be.
[I] was afraid to come out of the locker.
[I] was afraid that somebody would see.

I never wore it in public.