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Memory Lane : oops

20 Aug

I know I’ve been missing some of these lately, blame it on a Doctor Who scarf that I’m working on.  I’m on the back end of it actually, I’m so tired of single stitches now…

Also working on stocking my shops. This week is kind of dedicated to crafts last week was my “Ugh I need a break”.

Today… well I was in the car with the housemate’s son and we got to talking about stuff so I thought I’d type up the story he likes.  This one, isn’t exactly kiddie friendly there’s blood mentioned.

Memory Lane: oops

After a bad relationship in Atlanta, I ended up moving in with my mom for a bit back in Fairbanks.  First off, Mom and I… well we’ve never really been on good terms, but yeah that’s a story for another time really.  This one, well…

Mom and my stepdad were out in the garage knocking back a few beers with their buddies, we were having BBQ for dinner and they had asked me to clean a few chickens for dinner.  Wasn’t really a problem I had no problem defeathering birds.

Anyway I’m sitting on the back porch, bucket of feathers from one bird I’m cleaning, knife, cutting board the works. Dressed all in black because yeah I was kind of going through a Goth phase at 27 years old and there’s a knock on the front door.  I had watched mom start for the back door to help, only to duck back into the garage, and at first thought nothing of it.  Without really thinking ‘oh this might be a bad idea’, I went to answer the door, knife in one hand, bloody beheaded bird in the other.

Standing on the porch was a guy I had grown up with, not surprising Fairbanks wasn’t that big a town really, and he always did look good in a suit, even if he was a jerk, but once I saw him, well I couldn’t help it I was spotted, so of course I went to answer the door.

Jehovah Witnesses occasionally do the door to door bit, and sometimes have little kids with them.  The front door only had a decorative front panel that was three quarters of the way up the door.  So here I am, dressed up in black, complete with silver jewelry, dyed black hair (mine’s usually more of a dirty blond to a bland rusty brown looking), knife in the hand with the doorknob, and a bleeding, dead chicken dripping on the vinyl flooring… Ducking behind the old school mate, two kids, who couldn’t have been older than four…

Yeah mentally I’m going ‘Oh fuck’ because really he might have been a dick, but I didn’t want to become nightmare fuel for little kids.  The knife, instantly got tucked behind me as I politely asked, “Can I help you?”

He was looking at me, the chicken, back at me.  His hands going back to protect the kids. “I’ll come back later.”  Was all he said.  I waited for him to step off the porch before I darted the three feet back to the kitchen putting the chicken on the counter along with the knife and grabbing a paper towel to clean up the blood.  I glanced to the garage door, mom was actually holding herself up in the door frame…

Thank you so much mom, now your house doesn’t get those kinds of callers anymore, but well okay so I have no problem being odd, but that’s just a little much.

Needless to say I didn’t talk to her or my stepdad all weekend because of that.

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Posted by on August 20, 2013 in Memory Lane

 

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