I am Goofy. Goofy I am.

Proud Mum, in answer to a plea, I give you:

My Goofy Moments (only a the good parts version, otherwise I’d have to write a novel) . . . Feel free to laugh freely, I do! šŸ™‚

I think my gifted goofyness began on a dark and stormy night (cue thunder please) when I was locked up in my tower and a curse was beset upon me. Ok, ok. I was just walking down the hall in the dark and I thought my bedroom door was open. I didn’t realize it was closed until I tried to walk through it.

My gift for making people laugh (it sounds nicer that way than just saying klutziness) really began to show itself in my teen years. I blame it on weak ankles. At any given moment if I was stepping off a curve, or just plain walking, one would twist and I would end up on my face. It happened so often my ankles wouldn’t even swell anymore and I would just howl on the ground in laughter.

My first memorable good moment was on a back backing trip with a batch of girls from church. We had our leaders with us too, including the Stake President. We were up in the mountains, and being the fun loving mischievous sort that I am I started a snow ball fight with our Stake President. All was going well until I nailed him with a strategically placed snow ball. Oops! Hee Hee Hee! I was teased about that by my best friend, who was fortunate enough to be a witness, for ages, “Look out boys! She’s armed and dangerous! She’s got a snowball!”

My next very special moment was my senior year in high school. Myself and two of my friends decided to triple. In order to save on our budgets, which were nonexistent, we decided to have dinner at one of the friend’s houses. We had a very nice dinner set up. Except for the ginger ale. I think someone tossed it on as an after thought. “Oh yeah, the drink!” I was doomed from the first. Sitting at the end of the table just to my left was my very best of best friends. “Julia, can you pass the ginger ale please?” What possessed me to slide it rather than pick it up and pass it I shall never know. Maybe I just didn’t see the crack in the table. It tipped over, of course the lid wasn’t on, and instantly sprayed by best friend all over with ginger ale. Time froze for one horrible moment suspended with everyone holding their breath as she sat there in her ginger ale bath. Thankfully she began to laugh, so I knew I was allowed to. I felt terrible, but come on, it was dang funny. Luckily her dress was a simple black dress that could be tossed in the dryer and wasn’t ruined. While the girls were downstairs taking care of the dress and outfitting the unfortunate one in a very classy and stylish bathrobe, the boys were cleaning up the mess. When I arrived at the table I found a stack of napkins about 5 inches tall sitting by my plate. We all burst into gales of laughter.

There was another time when I was talking to someone in a dorm room. Their room was the first one in the hall and right by a double door with a metal post in the middle. I went to run to catch up with my friend afterwards. Yup. You guessed it! I body slammed that whole post! I hit it so hard I was staggering around trying to figure out where the angels were!! “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”

My next two memories happened while I was serving a mission in Chile. All of my companions were Latin American so I learned Spanish really fast. On one particular day, our preparation day so we weren’t out pounding the streets, we were playing basketball. Now the sisters were permitted to play with the Elders as long as we were on opposing teams and guarded each other. I tend to get a little aggressive when I play, but this time it wasn’t my fault, honest! One of the Elders on my team had the ball. I was open. He threw the ball, I jumped. The problem? Another Elder on my team jumped at the same time and was rather close to me. We collided mid air and crashed to the ground. I landed on my back . . . On top of the Elder! (By the way this was about 10 minutes after getting smashed in the face by the ball and scrunching my glasses so I had to bend them back into shape) I was terribly embarrassed, and then I realized that I had landed on my district leader’s companion. My district leader offered me a hand up and said, “Now, sister, couldn’t you wait two years?” We all busted up laughing.

On this other particular day I let my companion convince me to use an Epilady. I had never used one, and I have very sensitive skin. Not to mention that thing hurt, my legs were bright red and all bumpy. But I had on a long skirt and didn’t think anymore about it. This day we were going to visit a family. Mom, Dad, two children. We were walking down the sidewalk (jumble of cracked concrete really) and we were about half a block away when I saw all of them, outside. I was happy to see them so I flung my hand in the air to give them a hearty hello, all that managed to come out was, “Holaaaaahhhhggggg!” as I twisted my ankle and fell on all fours. I fell with such force that my back pack, which is very aerodynamicly designed, launched itself off my back and flew in a graceful arc landing at the feet of the father. He came rushing forward to help me up and I was assuring him that I am just a klutz, and thus am fine, when he saw my legs. “Hermana! Your legs (of course in Spanish)!” “The epilady!” I remembered in horror. That cursed thing has betrayed me. I think I mumbled something about their being just fine, sensitive to crashes or something silly.

I could go on forever. I have fallen down stairs, (even in the Smith building guys), I have crashed into sliding glass doors, I have emerged in public with mismatched shoes (the curse of dressing in the dark, which is black and which is brown?). I was on crutches my last semester at Ricks (end Jan. through beg. March) because I bruised cartilage in my ankle when I was dog piling my roommate. (don’t ask, I don’t know) I’ve slipped on grapes in the grocery store when I was pregnant (scared them to death they’d have a law suit, but I’m a nice person), and cut the end of my toe off in a lawn mower (yes I had shoes on, I’m a klutz, not stupid šŸ™‚ ). Just to name a few things. So now you know why I am rightly called goofy, and why he is my favorite character. I figured if he can be so inept and still happy about it so can I. So I have learned to laugh and realize that if I can bring a little humor into the lives of everyone else then my klutziness has not been in vain.


Filed under Goofs, Humor, Memory, Personal History, Youth

8 responses to “I am Goofy. Goofy I am.

  1. you cut the end of your toe of with a lawnmower? YIKES!

    … it’s a wonder you’re still alive considering all of the mishaps.

    you reminded me of another toe story though. but… it involves confusing the disconnected toe of 4 year old with a piece of popcorn, and i think my sister might be mad if i shared it. heh. gross, but funny.

  2. Okay, I just don’t want to think about toes anymore.

    …catch a falling star and put it in your pocket…

    (that’s better)

  3. FF-That’s not fair . . . now I am all curious!!! I did not recover the lost portion of my toe, I did look for it, but alas I could not find it. We decided it must have become either fertilizer or dog food. . . (this was in my senior year of high school, let’s just say I went out with a bang!)

    Karen, Touche! You guys make me laugh. šŸ™‚

  4. Oh Julia! I laughed so hard that I cried! I needed that…

  5. Yes Julia, that was quite funny! Thanks for the stories. I have to say that in High School I had very weak ankles too. the first few times they swelled and I’d have to wrap them, now I just tumble to the floor and laugh.


    … ok, now that there’s been full disclosure.

    when i was 6, we had a family over to the house and their youngest boy decided to ride my mom’s exercise bike, even though he’d been repeatedly warned to stay off of it. (it was one of those that had a chain exposed) well, he jumps on with no shoes and before anyone knew what had happened, there’s blood gushing from his pinky toe, and he’s in such shock he can’t even cry. turns out he lost is pinky toe… with the fleshy tip anyway. no one could find it though, and we weren’t totally sure exactly how he’d lost it, where and whatnot.

    i don’t know how much later it was, but plenty of time had passed, and my sister is looking at the bike chain (with the toe long forgotten), and she notices something in one of the links. she starts poking at it, trying to dislodge it. she assumes i have somehow managed to force popcorn into the chain. i don’t know why. i guess i’m an easy target. [shrug]

    she’s finally successful in dislodging the “pop corn”, rolls it around in her fingers and proceeds to acknowledge how weird old pop corn feels.

    though we’d forgotten about the toe, my mom had not… so, paula brings the “popcorn” over to mom, who gives it a quick once over and says, “paula! that’s renny’s toe!”

    paula screams bloody murder, the toe goes flying through the air, and i am absolved of the great popcorn in chain mystery of 1981. heh.

  7. FF- that is so funny, rofl!!! I read to my husband and both of us were busting a gut. It was definitely worth waiting a few hours to read. I don’t think I have ever heard a funny cut off toe story until now, and believe me I have heard my fair share of stories. Thanks for sharing. !! I am still laughing . . . šŸ™‚ Hee Hee Hee

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