I guess this happens at home too, but it's so normal here that I don't usually think about it. Would you think about it if you had a little sister that went around singing things like, "Give me sixteen days of happiness!" all the time? I didn't think so. Or, "Wouldn't it be weird if a cat turned itself inside out and you stuck your hand in its mouth and all you felt was fur?" I rest my case.
Anyway, my problem is that there's some kind of electrical short in my brain, and things just don't have as far to travel. They start in my brain, and instead of slowing down somewhere in between, they just go straight down and spurt right out of my mouth.
That's just how it works. 8:30 rolls around, *voop* goes the brain, and *shoop* come the words. It's worse when Sebastian's there (remember CokeToes?), because his brain does the same thing, except his words get all funky instead of coming out too fast. We're basically twins, by the way. You know, sometime SeaBass is going to find this blog and wonder why he's on it so much, and he'll think it's pretty weird, but it's really not. It's because we're twins, Sebastian! It's just a fact. I'm the older twin, by the way, so you have to do everything I say.
The other night SeaBass told me I was too home to go tired. Then he told me to stop laughing at him. Yeah right.
My point ("Ah, she has a point," you say) is that I did it again. I got tired, and weird, creepy stuff came out of my head (kind of like when I post late at night, which is always). The story, finally, is as follows:
Sebastian really wanted to get my shoes wet. I don't know why; he just thought it would be a good thing.
"Katie Beth, may I get your shoes wet?" asked Sebastian.
"No, Sebastian," said Katie Beth.
"Pleeeaaase may I get your shoes wet?" pleaded Sebastian.
"No, Sebastian," said Katie Beth.
"Why not?" asked Sebastian.
"Because I don't want them wet!" said Katie Beth
"But whyyyy?" said Sebastian.
"Because they're leather, and when they get wet they stain my feet!" said Katie Beth.
"Ha ha, and then you have orange stains on your feet," said Sebastian, giggling.
"Yes, exactly," said Katie Beth. "And while I realize that may be the closest to a tan that I'll ever get," said Katie Beth, "I don't want little flip-flop shaped tans on my feet."
And then I just kept going (Don't ask about the first/third person switches. It's how I roll.).
"They're shaped like little V's," continued Katie Beth. "Like little... migrating geese. And every time I take a step, the geese migrate a little further."
And Sebastian and I had our own little gigglefit on the pool deck.
Now I ask you, should it not have occurred to me somewhere in between the "flip-flop shaped tans" and the "migrating geese" to maybe stop talking? I mean, wouldn't a normal person maybe, possibly think, "Hey, I'd better shut up before I say something really stupid"? I'm not trying to say that having little flocks of migrating geese on my feet isn't awesome. It's just weird.
I think the Pioneer Woman has the same problem, judging by a recent post that I found, ironically, while thinking about the post I'm writing right now:
But I should warn you: Tracy Porter stuff is dangerous. I don’t even really let myself look because about a year ago I pricked both my index fingers and became blood sisters with myself. Then we promised each other we wouldn’t buy another piece of dinnerware until our youngest went to college.
So I don't feel so bad, really. I mean, I didn't feel bad... I amuse myself to no end. I just kinda figured I was too weird to even worry about. But it's ok now. I don't mind. It's not like I can stop it anyway.
I wonder what it would be like if I didn't always post late at night, when I'm more than usually exhausted? I suppose the world will never know.