I have written a couple of posts, here and here, about Dave not being my protector, and then about me putting myself first when in a situation of anxiety or terror, as opposed to doing the valiant thing we are 'supposed' to do to protect the ones we love.
And here we are again, only Ciara is the one who should be stoned and run out of the city. You thought you would get off easy did you? Not on my watch Ciara.
Let us travel back in time to 1991 (did everything happen that year?), when my family had rented a beautiful cottage in Muskoka. We invited Ciara along to experience some of the joys of cottage life: swimming, camp fires, boating, meeting a bunch of 14-year-old boys that were just dreamy. It was the local boys we met who told us about the abandoned store in the camp that still had tons of candy and shit in it, so of course, as any 11-year-old would do, we wanted to get in there. Even if it meant *gasp* breaking in.
So myself, Ciara, and my then 15-year-old sister (bitch was a bad influence!) decided that night we were going to bust into the store with all these crazy local boys who were just dying of boredom, what with being surrounded by beauty and sunshine and lakes all day. Such a desperately horrible life.
So we headed to the store pretty late that night. Ciara and I obviously watching each others backs. Because that's what best friends do. I mean, earlier that day we had written each other a thousand page letters, folded them into beer bottles (not ours!) and tossed them out to sea. We said that our friendship would last forever, but that if the bottle floated back to shore then it was a sign we would fall apart. I should have listened to the bottle that was back in my hands five minutes later, and then maybe I wouldn't have almost lost my life later that night due to Ciara's selfishness, you know?
That night, we climb through a tiny window into the store, our only entrance and exit. We had one of the boys stand watch outside. His job was to rattle the knob if anyone was coming. So, knowing we were good to start the raid, we did. Years old Bonkers, Tic Tacs, gum, all the essentials went from our grubby hands deep into our pants pockets. And then, once again, this is where things start to get a little crazy. We heard the knob rattle. So all of us, almost as one giant mass, lunge for the little window. Of course Krista gets out first because she is the oldest, and smartest, and has the biggest boobs (SUCH a ho) and then it's my turn. And all I can think is: "Sweet Jesus! Am I REALLY next?? I am NEVER next!". I gleefully (albeit scared-ly) have my body half way out the window when I feel these two hands pull me away from the exit. From freedom. They felt like the cold hands of death coming to pull me underground. In a flurry of limbs I am pulled away from the light only to see that it is Ciara who has sentenced me to my death. Ciara has plowed through everyone in that store trying to get out of it, and has sacrificed her best friend to the lions. My life flashed before my eyes. All I could see were handcuffs and a lengthy record that would prevent me from becoming the upstanding citizen I am today.
In her haste to save only herself, she jumped out that window so fast that she landed on top of my sister and knocked the breath out of her. That was the day that Krista lost her boobs. Because Ciara stepped on them and killed them, along with Krista's dreams of being Pamela Anderson. But it's ok! Not to worry, she got old and her boobs came back! They look different though...a little closer to her knees.
And there's the proof people, we have all exhibited signs of being car wash cunts in our lives. But we all still love each other. And that's the end of this story. Except for that one time that we climbed into a silo full of grain, and when we looked up and saw hundreds of bats, Ciara plowed through us all again to get out first. Seriously, what is her problem?
Love you Ciara!! To the next 18 years my love!
