You have? How about breaking twenty-three beloved items...at the same time?
Yep. I did that.
As you can imagine, this was a very traumatic incident in my life, yet the cause of it was something rather simple--a cereal box prize. That's right, a little plastic Frisbee, about six inches in diameter, that either my friend Jessie or I (I can't remember which) fished out of a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (or some other equally sugary cereal). It wasn't the Frisbee that did the damage (it was so cheap and flimsy, I don't think it could have the force to break anything). No, it was my head that dealt the deadly blow.
You see, Jessie and I were throwing this Frisbee around in her family room, when a great twitch of Jessie's wrist sent it soaring over my head, only to land behind the console t.v. I immediately sprung into action.
"I'll get it!!"
Reaching behind the console, I successfully secured the Frisbee. In a gesture of triumph and victory, I straightened up with such force that my head hit a tiered shelf that was hanging on the wall above the t.v. that housed her mom's collection of clown figurines. The result was a shower of crashing porcelain and screams that brought Jessie's mom, Ann, rushing into the family room.
Her first thought was that the ceiling fan light fixture fell on one of us because on a previous occasion someone had nearly knocked it out doing a cartwheel. What she found instead was me crying among the ruins of the entire clown collection. Being the nice woman that she is, she took me in her arms and insisted that everything was all right and was I sure that I wasn't hurt.
"In fact," she said, "they didn't all break. Look."
She picked up a papier-mache clown, who looked rather forlorn after the untimely death of all his companions.
"This was my favorite one anyway," she said resassuringly.
Whether or not this was actually true, I cannot say. But, one thing I do know for certain is that the papier-mache guy wasn't the only sad clown in the room that day.