I sort of made a mental pact to myself that I would write a post every day for December. I don’t have the greatest track record for following through on things I say I’m going to do…but we’ll see! The bad thing is, I have absolutely nothing on my mind tonight. I tried to ask my husband for some idea I could write about, but he’s snoring right now. So then I started trying to think of funny things that I’ve done, or have happened to me. And then it hit me – that one time when I almost went to prison for murder.
I remember it like it was yesterday, which I suppose is saying something since I was about 10 years old at the time. That was 17 years ago for anyone who’s counting. The night began like any other night. I had come home from school. My homework was probably all done, because I was a little nerd like that and always did my homework right when I came home from school.
My mom finished cooking dinner, which on this particular night happened to be spaghetti. We took our plates of food and piled into the living room to eat it. I was just sitting there eating, minding my own business. Then, much to my horror I lost my grip on my plate. There it went – splat! My plate of spaghetti was now face down on the carpet, spilling tomato sauce all over.
I immediately jumped up and began cleaning. I was crying so much, and I was becoming panicked. No matter how hard and long I scrubbed, I couldn’t get all the spaghetti sauce off of the carpet – there was still the faint lingerings of a red stain. And when I finally had to give up my scrubbing, I admitted to myself that I could go to prison for murder. I knew without a doubt that someone would come into our home and see that red stain on the carpet and just assume that I had killed someone. They would take me to prison, no questions asked.
This was a reality that I had convinced myself of! Of course I hadn’t thought of anything as simple as testing the stain for what it was, or even going on trial where I might have a chance to explain it was just spaghetti sauce. Nope! My life was over, I was on a one way trip to prison for life.
I honestly don’t remember when it was that I finally let go of the idea that my life was over from spilling spaghetti on the carpet. I do know that I never got punished for it, because I had probably punished myself a lot more than anything my mom could have done to me for punishment. But now I look back at the crazy thoughts I had as a kid and I think, did my mom wonder why her daughter was so weird?