kissa_bites | So what's yours?

So Ron just wandered over to my desk and said, “So tell me an interesting anecdote about yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me a story that I don’t know.”

“Um. Ok.” Ron Milligan must be doing a social experiment. I can play this game.

I was in high school and given the assignment with my science class group to dissect a fish. (Nicole, you can stop reading now, I know you remember.) The first part of the assignment was to pick up the fish and observe its physical characteristics – grey, slimy, fishlike. I put on a brave face, snapped on some gloves, and picked up the fish.

Then screamed.

The dorsal spine of the fish had stabbed me in the hand.

And stayed buried in the meat of my palm.

Nicole took control and yelled, “Mrs. Whatsyerface! The fish in is her hand!”

Mrs. Whatsyerface had no sense of humor. “I can see that the fish is in her hand.”

“No! It’s IN her hand!”

“What?”

“The fish!” Nicole persisted, “It’s in her hand!”

I turned my hand palm down and the fish stayed in there, apparently defying gravity. “It’s IN my hand!”

“Oh. Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

We stared at her blankly. She stared at us blankly.

Again, Nicole took control. “Oh my God. I’m taking her to the nurse!”

“Okay, then.”

In the nurse’s office, we did this routine again, with the same result. By now, it was Who’s on First, the Second.

The nurse failed at nursing and refused to help.

Nicole was less than impressed. I was amused, in pain, and vaguely worried about catching some disgusting fishy disease and/or botulism, trichinsosis, and syphilis.

Nicole; the blonde, the bubbly, the would-have-been-a-cheerleader-if-we-had-them, the hero of our tale; bravely took a deep breath, grasped the offending creature and pulled, removing the fish from my hand. She cleaned my hand and applied a band-aid. The nurse looked on.

I still have the scar on my left hand. Nicole and I have a helluva funny story. I don’t remember what happened to the poor, dead fish.

So, tell me a funny anecdote about yourself.