Why I Haven’t Written an Autobiography

This past weekend, Ethan and I stayed with my parents to watch General Conference. (We don’t have a TV. Besides, it’s kind of a family thing.) It was a great spiritual weekend, with lots of lessons learned. (More on that later.) This post isn’t about that.

This post is about how weird we are. We started realizing just how many strange things are said or done around our home, and decided to follow Victor Hugo’s example: rather than forming a quote wall, we came up with some ideas for chapter titles of our family autobiography. Here are a few we came up with:

  • The shorts ignite
  • Don’t eat that
  • Equipment sale: Gary
  • The acrid smoke of men’s briefs
  • This is why we’re testing him for parasites
  • I put vegetables on your bed
  • The people in the outline
  • Watch out for the stool sample in the fridge
  • Brisket and nudity
  • Flushing time is over
  • Hey! The dog stole my pizza dough!
  • Crime and punishment
  • Does everyone here have a sense of smell?
  • Attacked by a wild yawn
  • Gary and the German chocolate cake
  • Conference talks that end in death
  • Conference talks that never actually happened
  • Britons in the hallway
  • Don’t throw up on my husband’s head
  • Peeing on the neighbor’s porch, and other sleepwalking tales

Sad thing is, most of these I can’t really explain any further. (Some of them you wouldn’t want me to explain. The stool sample in the fridge comes to mind.) Basically, we’re really odd. But at least we think we’re funny. ♦

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