Stories of My Life: Sticky, Sticky, Sticky

I don't actually remember this experience, but I've been told about it so often, it feels like I remember it. It all happened once upon a time, a long time ago. I was very small.

Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.

Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.

Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.

Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.

When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.

My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.

Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!

(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)