The awesomeness began when we heard on the local news channel that our school had shut down for the day due to “uncomfortable circumstances.” I was too busy celebrating about the holiday to even TRY to figure out why exactly we got the day off.
[I’m surprised I didn’t give a second thought to THAT. I mean, I’m forever asking deep, insightful questions about the CRAZIEST stuff -‘What kind of underwear is Coach Krammer wearing today?? Striped or spotted??- and when I FINALLY have the appropriate situation to clear a doubt, I shut up. And there hasn’t been a snowball in sight for DAYS -which is freaky, because how can it get so warm when its just the beginning of JANUARY??- so why did the school have to close up, anyway??]
So, guess what we did instead of spending the day at a torture-prone zone [a.k.a middle school]??
We went GO-CARTING!!!!!!!! Oh yeah, baby!! It was THE most amazing experience EVER, what with the wind-in-your-face and the whole I’m-controlling-the-world feeling.
Let me narrate [in as much detail as I care to apply] the day’s happenings from when we [as in Mum, Dad, Kathryn and I] stood at the ticket counter. Of course, Mum hesitated about letting me drive a single cart by myself, but dad countered her [something that happens so rarely, even blue moons are more frequent in comparison] and told her stuff like how I’m ‘not going to get a better chance to perfect the driver in me’ [if there is one, he’s probably DEAD, because I have NEVER driven anything. Before the go-carting incident, that is] and how Mum should ‘let me make a few more of my own decisions.’
Of course, I was totally happy that I would be able to go by myself, but the ecstasy just zapped itself out when I figured out that it wasn’t as easy as it looked after all.
So I was all strapped, buckled, belted in and then this weird dude with a bandanna ripped a string from the back of the vehicle and VROOOOMM!! I was OFF!! Off until about seven seconds later, when I bumped into a heap of tires.
I was SO embarrassed!! Nobody -and I mean NOBODY- had gotten off to such a bad start this afternoon. Bandanna-guy rushed over and released me from the mess I’d created.
In the next two minutes, I’d crashed at least five times. It was a DISASTER!! I was pretty disappointed in myself because even thought there are some things that I do that look pretty awkward [like the gawky was I clutch the spoon at the dining table; kind of like the manner a serial killer would hold a dagger…] but I’ve always been a pretty-athletic person. AND, I’m a REAL cycler. A least I used to be, a couple years ago.
Fortunately, after about the first quarter-lap [and dozens of prayers] till the end of the second round, I managed to do OK. What REALLY shocked me was that from the beginning of the third circuit, I began REALLY getting the hang of it. I mean, I was practically WHIZZING around the place, dodging the fence by a thimble and turning the curves like Usain Bolt.
I’d morphed from race car horror to go-cart diva in less than five minutes!! And that;s not even the best part.
For me, parents can be split-up into three major categories depending on what extent they compliment their kids;
Type A: Polly Praise-A-Lot: These ‘rents are totally awesome to have, especially when you’ve got a C on a Geography test and they go, ‘Well, I’m still proud of you for getting that A in you English paper all those years ago, and don’t you forget it!!’
Type B: Normal Nathan: NN’s are in the middle; they don’t gush about that weird art project of yours, but on the other hand, they don’t walk away silently when you’ve just played a pro-level piece on your piano to perfection.
Type C: Silent Sandra: Sandras are completely trustworthy when it comes to judging their kids. If they don’t like it, they’ll tell you all about it. But when they DO flatter their children, you can be sure they really and truly mean it because Type C’s are REAL hard to please.
While my Mum falls into the first group, Dad would come under the “Silent Sandra” section [only, his name isn’t Sandra].
Which is why, [this is the best part] when I met dad at the finish line and walked to the seats together [with Kathryn, who went with dad in a double-car] and dad said, ‘You were damn good, Taylor,’ [When he says damn, he TOTALLY isn’t kidding] I nearly choked on my own spit.
Wait a minute… My FATHER said something about ME that sounded like a… a COMPLIMENT?? For a moment there, I was willing to believe like I was on an episode of Doctor Who and stuck in a parallel universe or something.
But after I brushed off those insane ideas from my mind and Dad’s words sunk in, it felt kind of nice. Oh, who am I kidding?? It felt EXCELLENT!! OUT OF THIS WORLD!!! BRILLIANT!!!!
I need another bag of nachos to recover from this, and I need it STAT!