This one might go too far… ūüí©

I’ve been debating whether or not to write this story. The subject matter… it’s just… well…

I’ve always playfully ascribed to the “girls don’t poop” motto… but we’re all adults here… we know that everyone poops, right?

We can call this story make-believe if you prefer to think otherwise, but I’ve held on to it long enough and I’m missing my cousins; one of whom is the star of this story, so it’s time for it to be told.

11234070_10156104115490697_8279931517945089409_o (1)Meet Matt; “MattMatt” as I can’t help but call him despite him now being a 24 year old Citadel grad and a 1st Lieutenant with the US Army.

Matt and I have never lived in the same state but somehow he’s still one of my closest and very best friends. What a very blessed and lucky girl I am to have him.

Especially in the situation I’m about to describe for you…

A couple of years ago, Matt came up from good ol’ Louisiana to stay a few days with me12095256_10156084311325697_8772604332428225307_o.jpg. My apartment is tiny, so I built him a little bed in my living room and we spent the days laughing, (drinking), and hopping around town.

On one of the last mornings of Matt’s stay, we were drinking coffee watching CMT videos (I like to serenade him with songs he hates) and Matt got up and headed for the one bathroom I pay rent for, returning for a moment to ask if he could “finish off the toilet paper.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, we’ll run out for some in a little.”

About 5 minutes after his return, it hit me that I desperately needed the toilet paper I had so selflessly forfeited to him only minutes before – and I needed it immediately.

Fortunately, I live just two blocks away from the grocery store – two very walkable blocks – but being that the situation was quite dire, we jumped in the car (rather I kind of shimmied into the car), and drove the bumpy painful two roads over.

Originally the plan was to buy TP and head back home (I really hate public bathrooms), but time was slipping away and so I bee-lined for the Farm Fresh bathroom with Matt chuckling at my heels.

As the story of my life goes, I chose the stall without – shocker – toilet paper, and while I wouldn’t normally have a problem asking the person beside me to pass some under the stall, the woman beside me was having a …hard time… and I didn’t feel it appropriate to bother her.

Choking on my laughter so she didn’t think it was directed at her, I texted MattMatt, “would you believe that there’s no toilet paper in my stall and the woman beside me is clearly in distress!?” and I heard him burst out laughing in the hallway.

At this point y’all, I am really struggling not to laugh out loud, tears streaming down my face, shamefully hiding in my toilet paper-less stall – now feeling like a jail cell as I’m officially stranded – wondering how long I’ll have to wait before I can request a pass-off from the poor woman beside me.

Then, the bathroom heavens opened up and I heard the hinge of the main door followed by a painfully high-pitch voice, “Leaaaaaneeeee, where are youuuuuu?!”

MattMatt, my hero.

I couldn’t even see straight from laughing as hard as a laugh will silently laugh, frantically waving my hands underneath the stall door for the secret-man-in-the-women’s-room toilet paper handoff.

I imagine I hugged / high-fived / fist-bumped Matt in the hallway following that glorious save but I don’t remember. I do remember buying a mega-pack of toilet paper and going out for Mimosas.

If that doesn’t deserve greatest-cousin-in-the-world status, y’all… I don’t know what does.

I am so overwhelmingly thankful for family I also call friends…. and their willingness to venture into restricted territory in the name of cousinly love.


As a reminder though, girls don’t poop.


When your Apple Cider Vinegar shot goes “down” wrong…

Recently I held a Bridal Shower for a childhood bestie of mine. At it, her Grandma was wilin’! In the middle of spewing hilarious stories and one-liners, she shared with us how she’s been drinking Apple Cider Vinegar “with Mothers” for her metabolism and energy.

I’ve heard about this before and when my Mom jumped on board, I figured I’d follow suite.

My mom drinks it down in an 8oz. glass of water with a little honey. While I didn’t think that was the worst thing in the world, I prefer to just get it over with.

So, last Monday I started taking 1 tbs vinegar mixed with 1 tbs. warm water and a little honey, twice a day; throwing it back like a shot.

One evening I even managed to convince my poor sweet boyfriend to participate (why does he date me?!)…

Needless to say, he wasn’t thrilled and when I threw mine back without trouble, he reminded me that he’s a better person than I am (*my words, not his) and that I’ve had experience taking shots that burn your face. To which I say…


Now for the terrible…

Just a couple days ago, I ran home from work for lunch realizing that I had forgotten to take my Apple Cider Vinegar morning dose. I whipped up my concoction, cheers-ed myself (as I always do because I’m that big of a nerd), and threw it back…

I very (very) quickly realized that it wasn’t tingling down my throat and settling into my stomach like it usually did …it felt like it was stuck somewhere in my face… like it detoured to that in-between place where your throat meets your nose. I struggled to find oxygen and my eyes began to burn with a fire I can’t even explain. After what felt like an eternity of drowning in Vinegar and at a loss of what else to do to survive, I leaned over the sink, begging every crevice in my face to let the devil juice out.

A sneeze saved me (or damned me) and it all came pouring out; out of my nose, out of my tear ducts, out of my pores, and out of my mouth.

Y’all, the pain was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings and eyesight back and when I did, I had to run back to the office and carry on like I hadn’t just experienced something terribly life-changing.

For your pleasure (and because I knew that the people I love would love this story this way), I documented the whole experience and the hours following in real time below via SnapChat.

Just be careful, my friends. I started taking my shots again recently but they’re much smaller and I’m much less confident; no longer ignorantly cheers-ing myself like I’m a boss.

Until next horrific life event.




Faith at 40,000 ft.

Truth: I’ve been gone so long that I couldn’t remember what I had named this blog – couldn’t remember what email address I used, what password I chose… none of the usuals worked …I started worrying I was turning into my grandmother, who couldn’t remember her password even if her password was “password” and was written on a sticky note on her desk. (I love you Granne… I don’t think you read this but if you do… well, you’ll forget.)

So, I jumped through the “Contact us” hoops and here I am! I fought my way back in.

Life is going so disgustingly amazingly well for me lately, there’s not enough wood in the world to knock on to talk about it so I won’t. I will say, mom is always right.

A good quick story instead?

My new (too good to be true) job includes some traveling (which I looooove) and a few weeks ago, I flew to Lexington, Kentucky.

On the way back home to Richmond, I sat next to a 40ish year old man on his very first airplane. Originally, I was annoyed. He was slightly larger, I had been delayed all day, had been sitting in airport floors, and I just wanted to shut my window and read my book.

And honestly, that’s what I did for the first 30 minutes. I’m ashamed now, knowing that this man had never seen the Earth from 40,000 feet and my being a brat deprived him of that as we ascended.

As soon as this man turned to me though, I could feel his positive spirit. He told me about his family; how jealous his kids were that he was flying as no one in his family ever had; about¬†his job and his church and how he was flying to Chicago to pick up a truck to drive back down to Mississippi. I threw my window up (a lesson in how spoiled I am and how thankful I should be) and invited him to lean over to take pictures… which he very quickly did, with more excitement than a kid on Christmas.

We hit a little air pocket and he looked over at me with a little panic on his sweet face and so I said, “No worries! Happens all the time! Haha, I think we both know we’d get to go somewhere better anyway though” (y’all know my heaven-obsession). He agreed, repeating that¬†he was God’s man; he always knows who he belongs too,¬†who he’s with, and where he’s going. We talked about that for just a few minutes before I went back to my book and he back to admiring the plane and the window view.

About twenty minutes later, the young man in front of us turned around and said, “excuse me, do y’all really believe all that stuff?” And before I could say a word, this sweet man beside me, on his very first flight, leaned forward and said, “Brother… let me tell you…”, locked in and didn’t so much as glance out the window again as he beautifully shared the reassurance and love found in his (our)¬†Faith to this young man.

ALL the tears.

God is SO good, am I right?


Life · Stories

Those firemen though…

It’s been two full years since I totaled Sally-Civic (Phew! Statute of limitations is up!). Two full years since a very sweet lady pulled over on the side of 95 and helped me out of my car. Two full years since the nicest state trooper¬†I’ve ever met sat me in his squad car and talked me down from passing out¬†while we waited for the ambulance. Two full years since five firemen sweetly knelt down around me and bandaged up my (later stitched-up) knee while very likely (but surely accidentally) looking up my dress. Two full years since I limped around¬†on a date with one of those firemen who seemed dreamy and¬†charming. And a little less than two full years since I went on a second date with said-fireman and learned that he was (definitely) not¬†(though, I guess he had already looked up my dress and I should have known better).


At the risk of being dramatic, I might should have died that day – at least gotten a lot more hurt. I wrecked during a rush hour on interstate 95 in the far left lane and somehow drifted, briefly unconscious and surrounded by airbags and that awful airbag-smoke-smell, across three lanes where my car stopped on it’s own 50 yards down the road on the far right shoulder. ¬†How I wasn’t hit as my car made it’s way across those lanes and so far down the highway¬†can really only be attributed to God looking out for me.

The stories that followed that accident are mostly funny – knowing those firemen really did probably see up my dress as a sat on the guardrail hyperventilating (I actually¬†told them I was going to faint – as you know, I don’t do well with blood. They all jumped up and freaked out¬†thinking I meant I had hit my head or something.¬†I had to calm them down and say it was just the blood issue… and they laughed at me) and¬†going on those two dates with the one¬†(who I’ve bumped into around town a few times since – once sleepily, makeup-less, in my pajamas, with my hair on top of my head as I evacuated my apartment building for a fire alarm at 3 o’clock in the morning).

But really, it reminded me, and continues to remind me, of our power to encourage, comfort, support, and affect one another. In the days following that accident, I was overwhelmed by love; all of the strangers who had been so sweet to me, one of my best friends РAlex (previously mentioned) leaving work and getting stuck in the traffic that I had caused to pick me up because I desperately did not want to ride in the ambulance, and everyone who checked on me and sent their love. I still think about all of that kindness regularly.

I’m obsessed with the power we have to¬†impact¬†each other’s lives, and incredibly blessed and thankful that people repeatedly use that power to positively affect me.

That’s all. ūüôā

Stories · Uncategorized

Intimidating…ly nice?

Whoa, I almost let a whole month go by! It’s overall been a good one! Lots of living and laughing, with only a couple of stumbles. Doesn’t get much better than that.

While there’s definitely some life happening that could be written about, I’d prefer to stick to my crazy life stories theme.

Here’s a quick one to reel you back in (I hope).

Yesterday, I took my car to Flagstop and struck up conversation with¬†a group of strangers in the waiting room (I love talking to strangers and can usual get them to talk about whatever I want). After a few minutes of me kind of rambling at these folks, a¬†man turned to me chuckling¬†and said “you know, you’re kind of intimidating.”

I was so excited, because let’s be honest, every girl wants to be at least a little intimidating and I only ever get called some variation of “nice,” that I jumped up, hugged him, and said “Oh my gosh! This is so exciting! Thank you!” to which he responded, pretty¬†stunned, “Hahaha, well aren’t you so nice!” …





Good one.

Sometimes during my lunch hour, I like to wander through Home Depot. I don’t know why. It’s just nearby and I like shiny things that¬†plug into the wall and make loud noises. As you can imagine, the employees there don’t love my visits and I may have induced a heart attack or two picking¬†up that little table saw thingy.

Anyways, I was walking around there the other day¬†when I realized I didn’t have my phone. I rounded a corner where a burly guy was looking at door knobs and I asked him if he had the time.

His response?¬†“If you have the energy.”

I have enough guy friends that I can appreciate a clever pick-up line. I gave him one of those awkward hand-gun-clicks and left, haha, because I still didn’t have the time or know if ¬†I was running over my hour.

But it made me start thinking about all of the crazy things I’ve heard… or read… or witnessed… or experienced… on this whole “pick-up-line” front and I’ve realized that I could easily write a book about¬†it all. And maybe one day I will. In the meantime, I’ll be working up a post of the best of them so stay tuned for that.

It’s rainy and cold outside and I’m ready for bed (it’s 2:45pm) so here’s to the HomeDepot lumberjack and the promise of another post soon.


Ready for a slowdown…

12112183_10156091618560697_7308707873147890979_nHello! It’s been a little while (again)! My bestie got married this past weekend;¬†she¬†was stunning, her groom was glowing, and everything went off without a hitch. It was by far one of my very favorite weekends. There was a lot going on leading up to it though, and now that it’s over, life slows back down for me… which I’ve needed.

Yesterday was my first day “back to normal” and I had daydreamed all day about taking the evening¬†easy, making dinner for some friends, and relaxing. I even skipped the gym because I “deserved” a little rest night. I walked into my apartment, which I had cleaned up the night before, with a sigh of relief and headed straight for the shower to kick off the much-needed calm night in.

After showering, I threw back my shower curtain to realize that all of my towels were still in the dryer around the corner from my bedroom, so I tiptoed out of the bathroom and rounded the corner to come face to face with the building maintenance man, who had come to pick up the portable AC unit that had been in my hallway.

We both screamed bloody murder, I ran back to the shower, and I’m pretty sure I heard him fall over something before scrambling around and hollering at me that he was heading out.

Haha, not the calm-relaxing night I had had in mind.

But,¬†needless to say, the next time I have a maintenance repair request, I expect it will get¬†done PRONTO …I’ve paid my dues.

…there’s a bright side to everything.


The morning after…

Yesterday I told you the story of my falling off a boat in front of a bunch of people this past fourth of July, which, re-reading now, wasn’t written very well (so sleepy).¬†It really is a pretty funny story but maybe you also have to know my friends to see the light in it.

Perhaps the best part of the story is here however, in the aftermath. july 4

<– That’s aftermath.

What I didn’t mention yesterday was that after falling off the boat in front of 300+ people and having been wrapped up and sat down by two people I don’t doubt take care of me to the absolute best of their ability, I didn’t really do a one-check over to be sure I was still in one piece.

I didn’t stand up again until the boat had docked back at the house and it wasn’t until then that I felt a rip run¬†across my the bottom of my knee and something cold run down the front of my leg.

Sidenote: I hate blood. Like, absolutely cannot handle it. I don’t even eat ketchup because it looks a little like blood to me – and it tastes gross – but anyways. I’ve passed out 3 different times in the last 15 years over this topic. Well 6 now but. Ugh. Blood. Even typing the word kind of gives me the shivers. (Baha, though, all of a sudden this flash back video¬†just popped into my head.)

As I started to tilt my head down to look¬†at the cause of the creepy feeling, Steven lifted my chin right back up, “Hey, so, it’s all good. Don’t look down though, cool? It’s fine. Come on.” and dragged me towards the bathroom inside. Within seconds, with Corbin dad-like standing in the doorway and Steven pushing my face away from the scene, I had been¬†doused in hydrogen peroxide (which actually burned like the fiery pits of hell), bandaged, wrapped, and sent back outside to play.

And the night went on without a hitch.

I woke up early the next morning, determined to get back to Richmond in time to make it to church.

When I got back to my apartment, I decided I should probably check out what had been the cause of such sweet-friend-parenting the night prior and started unwinding the bandage that had been done over top of something I never even saw.

To my LITERAL horror, the gash in my leg was still open and still bleeding. Pretty profusely. And as I started thinking, “ohhhh shiiiii….”¬† everything around me faded to black.

I woke up on my kitchen floor, surely not too long after that but I never once looked at the clock so I’m not even sure of the timeline of these events, and started crying. Haha, fainting sucks but¬†fainting home alone while almost all¬†of your friends and family are still out of town and your leg is still bleeding, REALLY sucks. I managed to pull myself together and decide that a shower would be a good idea-it would clean my leg off and calm me down, and I was still, at this point, thinking I was going to make it to church.

As it turns out, the shower isn’t smart when you have an open wound and being in a “confined” space isn’t smart when you’re hyperventilating. I remember reaching for the soap trying to act all showery-normal, peptalking myself “everything’s fiiiine, it’s just a little cut, you’re fine, it’s fine, haha, only you, it’s okay¬†self, it’s okay” before glancing down at my knee to check on my shower-will-make-it-better-theory… and the world faded to black again.

At this point, even in my delirium, I started to recognize that one day this was going to make for a great story, and I literally crawled out of my shower in a 50/50 Рlaugh/cry.

Because my shower idea had failed, I figured I had better get to a doctor to stop the bleeding and I started texting my always there, always supportive friend Lindsay for a lift (because you know, you shouldn’t drive when you’ve fainted twice in an hour and possibly smacked your head on both your kitchen and your shower floor). I’m sure my Lindsay got to me pretty quickly, but it could be that fainting¬†again while I waited¬†for her helped to pass the time.

If you live in Richmond and you ever need a Patient First, I recommend the one over there in Cary Town. They quickly took me (and Lindsay because I begged her to stay by my side. thanks Linds!) into the back and a large grumpy woman hooked me up for all my vitals (seen above). Grumpy nurse¬†actually yelled at Lindsay as she took that photo, but how worth it was it?! Haha, I laugh out loud every time I look at it. Sidenote: I have no idea how my hair looked that normal after the morning I had had. It doesn’t even look that normal on most normal days!

When the doctor came in to my little room (I wasn’t laughing and swinging my legs this time because you know… fainting, head injuries, delirium, blood)¬†he questioned my waiting¬†to come in, telling me that I should have gotten stitches 8 hours prior. When I told him that I had been at the lake and blah-blah-blah-fell off a boat, he rolled his eyes and laughed – surely thinking I had been tanked¬†(which, for the record, I was not.) He bandaged me up with those steri-strip thingys, left the room, and came back with both a tetanus shot and an antibiotic prescription because apparently lake water is yucky.

As soon as he threw back the curtain and we went to leave, I was “the girl who fell off the boat on the fourth of July” and no one believed that I could be so ridiculous as to do so sober.

But I was (for the most part). And I am. And I’m sure it won’t be the last time I fall off of something or get accused of doing something drunk that I actually did sober or have a doctor laugh at me…. because this is my life. And these are the things I constantly do.

My other scar (which happened since then and didn’t require a tetanus shot because I knew TO THE DAY when my last one was thanks to this series of events) healed up a lot better than this one has but I don’t mind so much because this one is¬†a constant reminder of how amazing my friends are… how’s that for “the bright side”?


Fireworks go boom.

Oh my gosh, the struggle is REAL today. How long has it been rainy? What does the sun even look like? Do stars really exist? Have my eyelids always been this heavy?

Anyways. I’ve been a slacker this past week and I owe a good story. So how about the time I fell off a boat in front of 300+ people, yes?11140025_10155709909135697_5486652291014298511_n

This past fourth of July, I drove down to Lake Gaston to meet my besties for a day¬†of shenanigans and a night of fireworks (& more shenanigans). I desperately needed the getaway and I’m always happy to soak up time with good friends – these being a handful of my best friends. You know, like the TV show “Friends” – pretty literally our lives.

We soaked up the sun, road around on the boat, grilled out, played a few games, visited a few other friends’ lake houses, and then about 15 of us packed up a cooler and a trash bag full of snacks, piled onto a boat, and headed out to the middle of the lake with 50ish other boats where a veteran lights off (rumor has it) $20,000+ worth of Fireworks for everyone in the area.

11659238_10155709910630697_5811274490269758689_nTo understand the next part of this story, meet Steven and Corbin; two of my favorite men, two of the world’s greatest men, and by far two¬†of¬†my very bests. Some people think it’s weird that two of the people I spend the most time with and go to with most of the things on my heart are guys. They¬†don’t understand it or trust it or “believe” in it.¬†And that’s really too bad. I value these two for who they are in the world, who they are to me, who they help me to understand other people to be, and who they’ve helped me become¬†…They also know me with a creepy sixth sense type of knowledge/understanding that this story supports entirely…11695010_10155712588735697_8311344767353737375_n (1)

I was on cloud nine that night, in the middle of the lake surrounded by amazing friends, looking out over 50+ boats of happy people, and excited to watch the sky light up (I love fireworks!). Before the sun set, a rainbow even showed itself across the sky. I was so happy and so at peace, and I know I prayed a prayer of thanks in the moments before the fireworks started.

If you know me, it goes without saying, and if you don’t, let me tell you that I’ve always been freakishly clumsy¬†which¬†you may have come to grasp in one of¬†my last stories about burning myself. I can trip over air, I swear it.

I was standing at the back of the boat when the Fireworks started. I’m not sure where Corbin and Steven were at the time but they weren’t near me.

Everyone knows that fireworks are loud, it’s like 50% of what they are: loud and bright. Well, starry-eyed-at-peace-jean shorts-and-a-sweatshirt-me forgot that fact and was startled to hear a loud boom accompany¬†them, jumping backwards, straight down the back of the boat, and into pitch-black water. I floundered around for a few seconds trying to determine which way was up and which way was down before¬†I reached the surface and opened my eyes to Steven and Corbin, casual and unsurprised. They fished¬†me out, wrapped me up, sat me down, gave me a few comforting “it’s okay girl, it happens” lines, patted my head, and we re-joined the party. They’ve hardly mentioned it since, except maybe in conversation with my parents.

While Corbin mysteriously appeared out of nowhere that night, I was later told that Steven was at the front of the boat in mid-conversation when everyone heard my splash and without turning his head or missing a beat, he said, “that was Leanne,” stood¬†up and headed for the back of the boat. Sixth sense, I’m telling you.

I had actually injured myself pretty good that night – but I’ll save that portion of the story for another day (because actually, I’m at work right now, hehe).

For weeks though, everywhere I went, people I didn’t even know were at the lake that weekend stopped me, “Omg girl! I saw you fall off the boat last weekend, are you alright?!” and “Leanne! Did I hear that it was you that we saw fall off a¬†boat at Lake Gaston 4th of July?!” and “Damn girl,¬†you sure know how to command attention, bahaha.” and “Poor thing.¬†Saw you crash at the lake. You okay?”

I was okay¬†until the next day…¬†I’ll¬†tell you that part tomorrow…


I was 18 when I last peed myself…

I love Fall! I know it’s not technically here yet but the mornings definitely prove it’s on its way! I’ve been crazy-busy lately and nothing too provoking¬†has come to mind for me to write about… but this morning an e-newsletter popped into my inbox from¬†Ashland Berry Farm.

So, because apparently I’m supposed to tell it, here’s another embarrassing story of my life…

I was the awesome age of 18 and had a relatively new boyfriend who in my mind, was maybe a little too cool for me at the time. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and we decided to rally a group to go to the Haunted Forest at Ashland Berry Farm. Hard as I¬†tried, all of my girlfriends used my signature line of “oh hayl no” and so I ended up with the boys for the night – which¬†has always been fine with me.

This was my first haunted forest¬†experience. If you’ve never been – every Fall Ashland Berry Farm¬†builds different¬†themed rooms in the middle of the woods; tight maze-like rooms that you have to squeeze into, one person behind the¬†other, holding on to each other‚Äôs waists and shuffling along.¬†There were three¬†different buildings to get through and thankfully BF¬†wanted to go first which made me second. The other¬†four boys (the shortest being maybe¬†5’11- just for imagery sake) latched on behind me and we entered¬†the¬†first building.

I¬†was terrified – I do not do scary things well. I buried my face in¬†BF’s¬†back,¬†and fought back terror-induced-dizziness as we worked through the maze¬†in which zombies and, I don’t know, freaky people, scream at you and throw chains around. I remember seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and hearing¬†the guys start laughing again (though¬†their laughs did sound a little forced‚Ķ)

As we stepped outside¬†into the cold and relaxed a little, something terrible happened. As soon as the relief came, a chainsaw started up in the darkness and quickly started working it’s way closer to us.¬†I felt BF¬†jump and pull away from me‚Ķ cool as I thought he was (and you are, if you ever happen to find this story. I’m sorry for portraying you as a wimp… wimp! Haha.) I knew he was about to run… and run he did, like a bat out of hell. I¬†reached for his hand, his jacket, his hood, scrambling to grab onto¬†anything that might result in me being taken with him instead of left paralyzed with the chainsaw dude, but he was fast as a baseball-playin’-bitch (pardon my language) and my¬†desperate reaches sent me¬†face-planting into the ground instead.

I was¬†second in our line of six. Which meant that as I looked up and and caught a glimpse of the¬†tiny speck¬†that was the¬†boy who called himself my boyfriend at the time, disappearing into the woods, the other four¬†boys crashed¬†down¬†on top me; a five-person pile up. I could still hear the chainsaw and even though I was literally eating mud¬†at the bottom of the stack, it was a comfort to know that they’d get chopped up before me (sorry!). But‚Ķ boys in high school are¬†athletic… and selfish, and as fast as they were down, they were up and running¬†again- four more tiny zig-zagging specks disappearing into the darkness¬†without¬†any concern for the girl they had left to die.

I was¬†covered in mud. Broken. And¬†alone. With the scary chainsaw guy.¬†I managed to roll over onto my back to get one last glimpse of the stars and beg God to take me, as he¬†stepped over my body (like dude, inappropriate…) He¬†raised the chainsaw¬†above his head¬†and paused there before¬†going in for the kill¬†(seriously though, do those guys get¬†background checks?!) when it happened.

I‚Äôve heard of people ‚Äúpeeing¬†a little‚ÄĚ when they laugh too hard or get¬†startled; mostly old folks or little kids. I was 18. But to my credit,¬†I was about to die. I didn‚Äôt pee a¬†little though. I peed a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Like. To my knees. And through my sobbing, I screamed at the top of my lungs, “OKAY! I PEEEEED!”¬†He dropped the chainsaw, laughed, and raised his mask to wink at me¬†before disappearing back into the woods…


Only one boy¬†had returned to save me and witnessed the happenings of¬†that night. To this day, he is still one of my very best friends. His¬†face was stone-cold-serious when he picked me up off the ground and attempted to hug me so that I’d calm down. I doubled-over laughing and waved him off so he didn’t touch me. I literally could¬†not¬†stop hyperventilating-style-laughing¬†trying to communicate to him that someone needed to take me home. Slowly the¬†other boys started to reappear and after a good three minutes of their blank stares, I managed to get out a “I peed, I peed!”

The thing about boys that I, to this day, love: These sweet boys (now all wonderful men) didn’t laugh at me until I said it was okay to laugh- they might have laughed a little too hard and a little too long after that but to their credit, they did wait for approval. Another thing I love about boys; no one else except my family knew that story until I finally decided to tell it four years later as a senior in college (during a night class and after happy hour).

And now I tell it for everyone. And here. Haha, because now that I’m 26, much worse, more embarrassing things have happened to me. Stay tuned…