Funny Story Friday

My biggest worry with Funny Story Friday, besides that I'll run out of funny stories, is that I'll tell the same story twice... or three times. If I ever do that, I only ask that you treat me like you would grandma; listen politely and nod your head. (You can even mouth all the good parts if you have them memorized.)

This is the story of my first spanking. I don't know if it was actually my first spanking, but it's the first one I remember. And it's memorable.

When I was about four years old, my favorite kind of cookie was chocolate oatmeal no-bake cookies (and not much has changed in that department since then.) My mom was responsible, and didn't really let us have cookies fresh out of the oven, she always said they had to "cool" first. Although, it was probably only 10 or 15 minutes that she had them cool before letting us eat one, it seemed like hours (and I know my gauge of time was off because it also seemed like they baked for hours. I was shocked (shocked!) to find out upon making cookies myself as a teenager that they only bake for 10 minutes, and not hours.) But chocolate oatmeal no-bake cookies were even worse because not only did they have to cool, but they also had to set-up and harden so that you weren't eating cookie soup. And while your average chocolate chip cookie took hours to cool, chocolate oatmeal no-bake cookies took, weeks and sometimes months to cool (in kid time). And there they would sit on the counter, in all their chocolatey, oatmealy, no-bakey yummyness not being eaten by me. Which was a real shame.

So one day I decided to take matters into my own hands. Mom had made my favorite chocolate oatmeal no-bake cookies and had them cooling on waxed paper on the counter, and I remember that she specifically instructed us that we couldn't have any until they cooled. But then everyone went downstairs and watched a basketball game. Bo-ring. I hung around upstairs to keep the cookies company.

They looked pretty cooled off to me.

Surely mom didn't know what she was talking about when she said they had to cool off.

She probably didn't know that I was able to handle only partially cooled-off cookies. I was tough.

I poked one.

It was firm enough to eat.

I picked off all of the little drips from the waxed paper and ate them. They were heaven.

I peeked downstairs and saw that both parental units were still absorbed in basketball, and I went back into the kitchen and took a cookie.

I quietly went out into the garage and ate it.

It was the most delicious cookie ever.

Surely they wouldn't miss another one? And after all, who eats just one cookie at a time anyway?

So I snuck back in and got a second one, and ate it in the garage.

I was completely unaware at that point in my life that missing cookies leave little round greasy spots on the waxed paper.

Eventually, my dad wandered upstairs, probably thinking about cookies himself, and when he looked at the sheet of waxed paper with two greasy missing-cookie spots, he asked, "Who ate these two cookies?"

Uh-oh.

The whole family came to investigate. They asked me if I had eaten the cookies, and I denied it. Then my mom asked me something interesting, "Do you know where the cookies went?"

Well, I might be able to help her out there. When in doubt, pass the blame. So I started to lie.

I said, "Well, there are these two little girls who live down in that house on the corner and their mom wouldn't give them dessert, so they came over here and each stole a cookie."

My mom was skeptical. She asked, "What did they look like?"

"Well, one was waring jeans and had a shirt with a rainbow on it, and the other was wearing a dress with blue flowers and a bonnet." (With the second girl, I was actually describing a doll had named Blueberry Girl.)

Either my mom didn't think that her sweet, adorable, 4-year-old girl was capable of lying, or she was shocked by the revelation that bonnets were coming back into style, but she seemed to believe me! (Or maybe she was humoring me, I don't know.) Unfortunately, instead of cutting her cookie losses and giving her own, well-behaved children cookies of their own, she decided to ask around the neighborhood. And she made me go with her.

So we walked up and down the street and and asked any neighbor we saw out in their yard whether they had seen two little girls, and my shining moment came every time my mom had me re-describe the girls. Rainbow shirt and dress with bonnet. Oddly, none of the neighbors had seen these two little girls lurking about. I pointed out the house where the little girls lived, but for some reason mom didn't want to go there. Either she didn't really believe me, or she didn't want to get into a confrontation with another mother who was mean enough to not give her daughters dessert... and to make one of them wear a bonnet. For some reason, though, I did want her to go to that house and settle it. I don't know if I thought they wouldn't be home and then she would drop it, or if I thought that Rainbow Shirt and Bonnet girl would suddenly materialize if she knocked on that particular door. I think 4-year-old logic has it's limits.

So we went home without finding the culprits.

That night when my mom was tucking me in, she said, "Alyson, I'm going to ask you one more time, and I want you to tell the truth; Did you eat those cookies?"

I couldn't lie anymore! I burst out crying and said, "Yes!" This was probably one of those moments when my mom was needing to discipline me, but was also trying not to laugh. She said, "I'm going to have to give you a spanking for disobeying and eating the cookies, and another spanking for lying to me." I was pretty much ok with that. As long as we didn't have to go around the neighborhood anymore looking for fictional cookie thieves.

So that is the story of what earned me my first, or most memorable, spanking. The funny part, though, is that I don't remember the spanking at all, just that my mom said I was going to get one. I don't even remember if they spanked me that night, or waited until the morning. But you can bet that I never ate cookies before my mom said I could ever again. Or if I did, I ate enough where I could rip of a whole section of waxed paper and hide it in the trash...