This story is one of my favourite stories to tell to people, mainly because of the inherent drama of the entire thing. I figure that’s because my Mom and I are pretty dramatic people. But for you to understand this story, you need a bit of a back story.
When I was eleven, I was going through a phase. A phase where I wore backwards caps and insisted that everyone call me “Kate” NOT EVER “Katelyn”. I was a miserable, sullen little brat (I figure because my parents were splitting up and I had no other appropriate outlet).
I frequently picked on my brothers and pretended I liked grossly obscene horror movies to seem more tough among other things.
Plus, there exists one family video of us singing in a karaoke booth to “Kokamo” by the Beach Boys. While resplendent in my backwards cap and signature frown, I struggled to get through the lyrics without losing my detached facade. (And yes, if I ever find the video, I will post it.)
With my newfound personality change – I also found myself drawn to things I wasn’t normally. Books that veered from mermaids and Nancy Drew and into darker territory. It was there that I actually read my first swear word.
And everything was fine. My covert swearing on the schoolyard and random lined pages filled with obscenity was not an issue.
Until I got reckless.
You know that moment before the storm? Where everything gets really static and quiet and you get this feeling in the core of your gut where you KNOW something bad is going down? As soon as that swear word exited my lips, that is precisely how I felt.
At that moment I knew one thing; I was going to have to run.
Fast.
I was going to have to speed up the stairs with all the strength my poor little body could manage.
About halfway up the stairs I made the ultimate mistake and looked behind me.She was there. Looking like some demon dinosaur, screaming and ready to kill me.
I could see the light of the upstairs shining with hope. I reached a hand forward, praying that I could escape, but then I felt a cold, claw-like grasp around my ankle.
I thought I could escape her grasp, but it proved fruitless. And so I did what one does when accosted by a frightening beast and played dead.
If only it had been that easy.
I would like to just comment a.) my mom is awesome and I can think of maybe three times I was paddled with the wooden spoon of horror, so please don’t think I was raised by some draconian monster. b.) After that, ‘Kate’ and her sullen apathy went the way of my backwards cap – and has never returned.
And just a shout out to those who have submitted your photos for the great advertising contest! You’re doing AWESOME!! And I will include some photos that you’ve submitted in the next post!
Odd but nice 
I was definitely spanked with a wooden spoon as well- and broke a few!
I am 35 and I STILL don’t swear in front of my parents. *gulp*
Heh, I got the belt as a kid. Saves on wooden spoon breakage, hard on a single mom’s budget 😛