Small little things you've done that you will NEVER be forgiven for

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

I am sure I have done unforgivable things, but nobody seelms interested in bringing them up. But my sister has pulled at least one unforgivable act.

I was about 16 and I had a buddy over and we were hanging out in my room. My sister walks in and says, “Ford, do you think I am spinny? I don’t think I am spinny. Am I? I don’t think so. Do you think so? I don’t think I am spinny.” And walked out. She was fourteen and that happened 15 years ago, I bring it up every now and again when she gets too sanctimonious.

22

My family doesn’t just tell stories, they exaggerate them. When I was in high school we had this set of encyclopedias that were very out of date. They were printed right after Kennedy was elected (and I am class of '99). I was trying to convince my mom to buy a new set, so I pointed out some problems, some info about dinosaurs that was considered accurate anymore, and also that it said two different presidents were both the youngest ever elected. (I guess when Kennedy was elected, they forgot to edit the entry for the other president.)

But that’s not how the story gets told. No. Apparently, my mom and I were “arguing about something,” and I said let’s look it up. And then when the encyclopedia agreed with her, I said the book was wrong. :rolleyes: Yeah. This gets told anytime I disagree with my mom about anything.

The worst part was this past Christmas. My brother was home from the Navy and we were arguing and my brother started teasing me about this story in the middle of an argument (not a heated one) that we were having. Then my husband, who knew about the whole story, decides it would be fun to tease me and that I’ll “know” he’s just kidding, so he joins in with my brother! They totally embarrassed me in front of my new sister-in-law over a story that isn’t even true! :frowning:

23

That’s so like my family - once, we were in China at a banquet given in our honour, and my parents were piling all sorts of stuff up into their bowls before eating. I gently whispered to my father: “Dad, just so you know, it’s considered a bit rude to put more than one thing into your bowl at any one time”.

Now, apparently, I screamed across the table: “YOU’RE BEING RUDE!!!”

I think it’s cute, though, and there’s no point in arguing about it.

24

I’ve got one - one time when I was small (3 or 4) my mother bought my brother a model airplane kit for his birthday and gave me strict instructions not to tell him. (He would be 7 or 8 years old). So when we get home my brother tells me - “I know what you got me it’s a model train.” And of course I blurt out - “No we didn’t it’s a plane!” My brother is now passing this story down to his children.

N.

25

Jon, one of my roommates, was making peanut butter bars with his g/f, while Denis and I were loitering in the common room, drinking, and playing UNO. I was a little tipsy, but Denis was pretty far gone. Jon goes into his room, gets the frozen, half-prepared bars from the fridge, and then he and his g/f leave to get the peanut butter (the applying of which, and more refrigeration is the last step of the recipe).

Denis begins dancing around the room. He then dances over to the peanut butter bar tray, looks around, gives me a “shush” expression, and PULLS DOWN HIS PANTS AND RUBS THE PEANUT BUTTER BARS ON HIS ASS! :eek: Of course, I find this hilarious. Denis then scampers back down to finish the game and we watch the rest of the preparation in delight.

Later, in a fit of anger, I let it leak that this… action was performed. From that point on, whenever Denis has a complaint about anyone, it’s “well at least he/she didn’t rub his/her ass on the peanut butter bars!” We’ll never let him forget!

26

But, it does get brought up rather a lot.

In college, my friends and I in typical poor college student style subsisted mainly on ramen noodles and canned soup. From time to time we would get fancy and buy some Rice-a-roni, but as a group we were undeniably mated with our respective Polly Hot Pots.

Our freshman year, one evening when about 5 of us had drunken ourselves into glassy-eyed oblivion, we decided to make snacks, and dug out the packets of Ramen. I made one, my roomate was in charge of one and our friend Erin had control of the big pot. She unfortunately didn’t put quite enough water in to fully cook the ramen, but she was drunk and lazy and felt that the sink was WAY more effort than just emptying half her beer into it. We caught her doing this when the ramen was pretty well cooked through, and she was so drunk and belligerent that we didn’t see any point in taking it away from her.

She ended up eating the beer noodles, and nothing awful happened, sure she was a little green the next morning, but she was headed that direction anyway.

What made it better, besides having something to rib her about for a couple days, was that I was in a play at the time. I thought making ramen with beer with the ultimate in college idiocy, so without telling her, I worked it into a scene in the show. The writers/directors thought it was hysterical, and I made sure Erin was in the front row opening night. She turned so red I thought she would asphyxiate when I bellowed out to the audience in a slurred voice “a little beer won’t hurt these noodles, no, in fact, it adds FLAVOR.” Direct quote!

27

When I was 16, I had a car accident by a particular corner. 3 years later, my family still refers to it as my corner every time we go by it, including today.

When I was around 9, my family lived in Florida. My sister (who was around 3 at the time) and I were romping around on the nearly empty beach one afternoon. My sister apparently came crying to my parents, saying “Adrienne isn’t sharing the beach!” We still hear about it all the time.

A few hours after I was born, I got the hiccups. Since I was a firstborn, my parents didn’t know what to do so they called a nurse (who never came). I made them panic on my first day out. Hahahahahaaaa…

28

But do they call me McGregor the Mason? Nooo! …

29

Two incidents come to mind: getting a nipple ring and shoplifting. Needless to say they both didn’t happen at the same time.

Nipple ring was on a dare by my then-and-no-longer gf. To this day my family loves to bring it up…as does my fiancee.

While in college I once lifted some booze, as in (literally) a whole shopping carts worth. The sheer volume has made it that all friends still remind me of this. (FWIW, karma did rear her head as I deservedly got silly sick off of what I stole.)

30

Once, long ago, so long ago that I don’t even remember exactly when it happened, I committed the horrible crime of throwing away the honey bear. :eek: It was an old, careworn honey bear, with a squished in little nose and a label that had long since worn away. You could barely get honey out of the damn thing, because his little lid was clogged. You could barely get new honey into the damn thing, because his little lid also wouldn’t come off, being cemented in place by eons of honey. It was, in short, direly in need of replacement.

It was also, apparently, a family pet.

And every time I go home, my parents make a big production of hiding their honey bear.

31

Wow, I don’t know who is worse at forgiving–me or my family.

My family: At my opening day of college, the dean gave a speech about the university of chicago teaching us not to make any generalizations. Ever since, any time I make a statement, my family reminds me that the university of Chicago taught me not to make generalizations. You might say that my dissertation was all about making generalizations.

I got in a funk one summer on the outs with a bf and made copius quantities of jam in our summer house. I’m still eating it. I didn’t clean off the runover into the stove very well, starting a kitchen fire. I got told for years that I couldn’t make jam in the kitchen.

I let our neighbor’s Ancient Kitty into the summer house all the time for the TLC and company. My brother swears that this cat pisses in his bed. It’s my aunt’s cat who pissed in his bed: fifteen years ago.

Apparently I used to run around the house as a three year old singing “I can speak French! Un, deux, trois! See! I can speak French!” I am now a French professor.

I lost my wallet while in Bordeaux, France, doing research. My mom was going to come to Paris to help me close out my apartment, the next week. I had a shitload to move back from Bordeaux–had rented a car to go down and needed another car to go back. So I asked my mom to fly direct to Bordeaux and pick up a car when she came. She took great pleasure in telling the entire universe that the mothering never ends–she had just gotten an international call to come pick up her daughter who had lost her purse.

But then there are the things that my parents don’t know about.

Last summer, while shampooing the rugs in the summer house, I inadvertently broke an antique bedframe right at the corner joint where it holds the mattress and glued it back together with woodglue. I am in suspense until the moment that the frame gives way.

In a funk about a bf last summer, I took a curve too hard in the rain and went straight into a field, taking a fencepost with me.

In college, I got started driving on Ogden Av. ifrom the far western suburbs during a snowstorm in their car and drove clean into Chicago, for the hell of it, then had to get back again, after having gotten pulled over by a cop in the South Side. I called a gf to cover for my long absence. 12 inches of snow.

One night in high school I drove along a subdivision with a gf wearing sunglasses, singing “I wear my sunglasses at night” and clipped someone’s yard.

Last year, I was making biscuits in my little university office toaster oven and had a huge university office oven fire. Ohmigod.

I took a vacation to see a bf that my parents didn’t know about and left them in charge of a Doper’s cats that I was catsitting.

Moral turpitude.

32

My sister’s wedding party was trying to break into their honeymoon suite during the reception to no avail. I got in without the benefit of a key and called her best friend from the wedding party from the room while they were downstairs. Her “friends” proceeded to trash the suite beyond belief or usefulness. I had no idea her “friends” would do such a lousy thing. I was thinking something relatively innocent like short-sheeting the bed or shaving cream on the phone earpiece.

I missed the Family Portrait while breaking into her room. It’s all my fault for everything that happened and every time I see “The Portrait” I am reminded (internally and externally) and no one will let it go. It’s been 15 years so far.

33

I fell off the roof of the house and broke my leg.

The horrible part about getting that story repeated back, millions of times, from every member of my extended family, is that it isn’t true.

Not at all. Not untrue like an exaggeration, not true as in it never happened.

I broke my leg jumping the three wheeler. It was the summer before 6th grade, and I was home alone. My jump ramp was a dirt ridge a couple feet tall, and there was a fence a short distance on the other side. So to jump it, I’d get up to speed, hit the jump, land, then turn to avoid the fence. The difficult part was in the turning. Try turning a tricycle around a corner really quickly some time; they corner oddly.

So I make the jump, fail to make the turn, and crush my ankle between the ground and the three wheeler. Longer story slightly shorter, I end up using the excuse that I fell off the roof of the house – a valid one, considering that the roof of the house was the backyard, and there wasn’t a rail or anything.

The fence is gone, the hill is gone, the three wheeler is gone, the leg is healed. Most of them don’t know the true story, and they still bring it up. Even the one uncle I told the real story to has used it as a general way of saying ‘be careful’.
There was another story that always drove me nuts. I remember yelling at my mom after she’d brought it up one too many times. I can’t remember what it was, and for that I’m thankful.

34

on a trip to NC, my friend mike and i visited some old friends of his. as i grew up in atlanta, this was quite rural. in the backyard of their family home, there were some free roaming chickens. i am walking through the house and look out the backdoor and see them and say ‘oooh, birds!’ i am reminded of that whenever chickens are mentioned.

road trip as a child, i was never allowed to have chocolate cause i was too hyper (actually, my sugar intake was severely limited altogether). my uncle sitting in the backseat with me hands me some of his chocolate bar, but i know better and decline, i mean, mom is in the front seat. he promises not to tell, that shee isn’t looking, to go ahead and i do. as soon as the chocolate is nice and half chewed, he says ‘vicki, jodi’s eating chocolate!’ in a sing-songy voice. mom turns around and starts slapping at my legs and yelling ‘spit it out! spit it out!’ guess riding for hours in a car with me hyped up on chocolate didn’t strike her as funny :slight_smile: oddly enough as an adult i don’t eat much chocolate, so when i do…, well, it gets ‘announced’.

35

Goat-fucker! :slight_smile:

36

Not me, not even my SO - but her Uncle, who’s now 45 and is often reminded of the incident.
Imagine he’s six:

While not enjoying his vegetables at a family dinner he stuffed them all down the front of his trousers. No one noticed until bedtime that evening.

37

I leftt some candleholder on the roof of a car and when i got out because i neede to tie my shoes. All of the candleholders broke, then I just stood there and laughed my frigging head off, because I had not really slept after packing all day and then being dragged out to a farm in Kouts- and WallyWorld at 3 a.m.

38

Which is not fun , because we needed to go get a set of tools and some more boxes.

Then I tried to stay awake so i could wake someone after their nap, and i passed out after attempting to read a Chicago Tribune.

39

When I was 15 and at a sleepover camp I broke my wrist trying to dunk a basketball (got hung on the rim, and fell over backwards…). Anytime I get hurt doing anything now, my family asks “Were you trying to dunk?” Since then I’ve been afraid to try dunking again. Not so much because I’m afraid of getting hurt, but I know if by some chance I do hurt myself, I’ll never live it down.