The Almost But Not Entirely True Story of Lily
So I made a promise to my friends who read my MySpace page that I’d write an entry about people who commented my blog. I’ll start with Lily, because she commented two entries.
|How did I meet Lily? Well, I didn’t. You see, Lily‘s not real. She’s a figment of my goldfish’s imagination. Apparently fictitious people get discounts on broadband internet access and tuition reimbursement.
Lily was born on a cold summer morn in a hot cocoa shop just outside a small town in El Paso, Texas. Her mum had just ordered a mug to chase down her first helping when all the sudden her water broke. The midwife was also the waitress, as luck would have it, and so Lily’s mum was sure to tip her extra that day. They even named her after the midwife, but later had the name legally changed because they realized kids would ridicule her if she was called “Bubbles McGee,” what with her last name being different and all.
As if that weren’t hard enough, Lily was born with two left feet. Literally. She can’t dance; she always walks in circles; she never stops smiling slightly to the left.
Twenty some-odd years and lotsa miscellaneous drama later, I met Lily in college. I don’t remember the exact day we met. It might have been on the trip to Asheville, might have been that night I was convinced Sara was only ticklish on her pinky toe. It matters not, because she bit me and infected me with silly. I’ve never been the same since. The End. At least, that’s how I remember it.
(one down, two to go.)