The Worst Thing

I was sitting in a medical office yesterday reading an article about blogging. The article weighed the pro's and con's of letting it all hang out online. Their research showed that confession is not only good for the soul, but great for your health! So their verdict was keep on bloggin!

I tend not to bare much of my personal trials online for fear people will be bored by my whining. But maybe I'll bare just a tidbit. I was in that office for a diagnostic mammogram and/or ultrasound. Another fricking recall. Every mammogram since the age of 45, I've gotten the dreaded call back. After once again having the process drag on for over a month and having the crap scared out of me, the decision was benign. Plop plop fizz fizz -- oh what a relief it is. You'd think I would be used to the drill by now, but the worry was intensified this year since my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in June.

Since I'm in the mood to purge, I'll tell you the worst thing I ever did. Then you have to confess your worst sin! Tee hee.

See this car? A shiny black sporty Corvair convertible with red faux leather (vinyl) interior. It was my brother's pride and joy. That's him standing in front of it with our cousin Jon. In the time before the Corvair, he'd had to pay his dues and drive a late 1940's era Ford he inherited when my grandfather died.

Well . . . I drowned his shiny black convertible. Yes, you heard that right. My brother, trying foolishly to be helpful, consented to let me drive it on the afternoon before my first Driver's Ed class. I was extremely embarrassed because I'd never driven a car and didn't want to appear stupid on my first class outing. (Much better to appear that night in class in front of everyone and listen to all the inner tube jokes.) So Larry took me out to a gravel road on the other side of the river and gave me the wheel. One thing led to another, and I ended up driving over an embankment into a flooded river backup area. I can still remember the sound of the water whooshing into the car as it quickly poured in through the vents. And then my brother screaming "Get out of the God-damn car!" at me after he managed to pry open the driver's side door.

My brother and I appeared on the doorstep at home dripping soaking wet. Our mother answered the door and said, "You're all wet?" My brother replied, "Becky drove my car into the river." She said, "You're kidding!" And he yelled, "Does it look like it!!!!"

It all worked out in the end. The car was totalled by the insurance company and my parents replaced my brother's Corvair with a shiny red '67 Mustang. (And I managed to scrape the side of it when my brother went off to college without it his freshman year.) I was a very bad girl.

So -- that's my confession. What's yours?

P.S. Sorry Larry!