About potatoes.

Today I went to my first class. It's been so long since I've gone to a class that I didn't quite know how to deal with myself. Ok, so it wasn't that bad. I was just worried I'd be the oldest person there. (Not even, actually.)

I was seriously late to class because my dumb ass either misread or misremembered the class start time. I breezed into class at 6:20pm and was completely dumbfounded that there were 18 or so people staring right at me with a "what do you want retard?" look. Of course my mouth probably gaped open. Fortunately a nice gal told me what class it was as I was stammering "is this…" By the way, class started at 6pm.

Right, bad move. My teacher was not at all happy. He ignored me for the better part of 15 minutes. However the class was interesting. For once I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to sit there and watch everybody. I wanted to hear all their stories. I wanted to watch the way they wrote their potato stories. I didn't want to write mine, I didn't want to share mine; I just wanted to confirm I was there.

I was not however impressed with the facility. I think I was spoiled at U of A because everywhere I go I find myself comparing libraries, bookstores & sidewalks. This is a ridiculous idea-but I find it difficult to stop.

This is my potato story that I didn't share because I was terrified and too busy listening for the words and pauses in other people's stories.

(We were given a potato and 15 minutes to compose a story about the tatter.)

I met Blythe at the Penguins on Campbell Avenue. Imagine my utter surprise when I saw a rugged potato slumped over a cup of fat free frozen yogurt. I ordered my yogurt and took the available chair next to him.

Blythe told me he came from a troubled home. A terrible home where he was terrorized by two small children. The garlic scented pantry he lived in for 6 days was hell.

Aunt Lily came over one Sunday afternoon to babysit the kids. "Aunt Lily is the family bingomaniac", Blythe told me. The children in their usual manner where playing and got into Lily's bingo bag. They stole away with her lucky blue haired troll Roger.

Roger eventually found his way to the doggie door and was wisked away in moments, never to be seen again. The children, fearing the wrath of Aunt Lily, threw Blythe in the bag to disguise the missing troll.

Imagine the horror as Aunt Lily discovered her precious Roger was missing and in his place a grimey spud. She instantly became rabid and dug her nails into Blythe's firm body.

"It isn't easy being in a home with small children", Blythe told me as he scarfed the last few spoonfuls of his strawberry yougurt. "Worse yet to be the victim of a bingomaniac." We both nodded. I scooted out my chair and we parted ways.

Note: I tried not to edit it. I think it's best to see it in it's raw form. I will however MAYBE later go back & fix it.

posted by Danna Saunders @ 1/24/2005 10:00:00 PM