Because most philosophies that frown on reproduction don't survive.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

I Remember MrsDarwin 6

Once again, it's my birthday! and that means it's time for everyone's favorite compilation of egregious falsehoods.
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.
Brush up on the mendacity from years past:
I Remember MrsDarwin 2009
I Remember MrsDarwin 2008
I Remember MrsDarwin 2007
I Remember MrsDarwin 2006
I Remember MrsDarwin 2005


lissla lissar said...

I remember drinking with Mrs. Darwin at the Sylvester Stallone Look-Alike Club in Des Moines. Everything was fine until she started her Rocky impression.

Man, those bouncers were rough.

Anonymous said...

I'll never forget that time Darwin bought you a pair of jeans that were two sizes too small back when you were a zombie. He demanded that you wear them even though the undead are not known for their fashion sense or manual dexterity. We had to wait a half hour for you to finally get them on.

We went to that chic night club in the warehouse district called The Loft. Your jeans were so tight you couldn't walk up the steps. Then you ate the bartender.

We all felt your embarrasment and tried to chastise Darwin for putting you through that, but all he had to say for himself was, "It's worth it. Zombie chicks are hot, especially in tight pants."

Then we all danced freestyle disco.

Rebekka said...

I remember the first time I ran across Mrs Darwin - I was riding my bike to work and saw her dancing the samba at the Carnival here in Copenhagen. The glitter! The sequins! The FEATHERS! And what a body. Imagine my later surprise when I discovered she has 12 children on 3 continents.

TS said...

"Music and passion are always in fashion," you drawled, playing with the yellow feathers in your hair. You worked as a showgirl, with the obligatory dress cut down to there, down at the Copa. You would merengue and do the cha-cha, but while you tried to be a star you were actually piling up experiences for your novel!

RL said...

August 9, 1998. The Ross County fairgrounds in Chillicothe, OH.

The Great Tractor Pull Queen Scandal.


Enough said.

BettyDuffy said...

Remember when we were growing up, and you lived under my bed? And Mom used to yell at me to turn out the lights, and that's when I could hear you scratching under there, "It's time to play. I want to play." So I'd reach down and pull out my piggy bank, where you lived, uncork it and pull you out, inflate you, and there you were, ready to play Barbies. And you'd say, "Do you know why Mrs. Darwin loves Barbie, Betty? Because Barbie is the fully evolved woman." And you'd comb her hair and put her in a mini-skirt, and I was mesmerized. I believed everything you told me in those days, and for many years to come. And now that I think of it, I can say with certainty that I have you to thank for my eating disorder. Happy Birthday Mrs. D.

Anonymous said...

I remember when Mrs. Darwin and I would spend long afternoons on the veranda putting the finishing touches on our cotillion dresses. It is true that she often needed my expert tailoring assistance, but she has a way with watercress that made it all worthwhile.

Big Tex said...

What's the word? Thunderbird
How's it sold? Good and cold
What's the jive? Bird's alive
What's the price? Thirty twice
Simply... having... a wonderful Christmas time!

Yeah, Mrs. Darwin, Thunderbird wine, and a Paul McCartney Christmas "carol" make for one wild evening.

Dorian Speed said...

I can't believe Mrs. Darwin is old enough to drink now, although it's not like this is the first taste of liquor to pass her lips. She made my seventh period geometry class a living nightmare - passing those horrid little notes to her friends about my haircut, chomping away at her chewing gum and then dramatically sashaying across the room when I told her to spit it out. She'd cuss in Catalan while I emptied out her locker, searching for the flask I knew she was sneaking sips from between classes. Little did she know I'd done a bit of time in a Barcelona prison before I came to teach at the reformatory.

Jamie said...

Last month Mrs. Darwin and I were flying to Malaysia to source durians for Jamie Oliver (she forgot to mention on the blog that we're co-consultants on his upcoming TV show: What Kids Will Really Eat)--

[here I must pause to wonder why there would be durians on such a show, but no matter]

--and when we got to the airport they steered her into one of those new Nudie Picture Scanners. "I don't think so," quoth she. "You mean you'd prefer a pat-down?" the agent queried. "No," she said emphatically. "I mean I'd prefer you quit TRAMPLING on the Fourth Amendment. Here, I brought you a copy."

The agent read her laminated pocket copy of the Bill of Rights and his jaw smacked against his chest. "Guys!" he said. "Did you know about this? This is some crazy stuff right here?" (He didn't say "stuff," exactly, but this is a family blog.)

The TSA agents flung down their badges in a unanimous gesture of repudiation. The crowd at the gate cheered for them, and cheered again for Mrs. Darwin, defender of truth, justice, the American way, and durian.

Kate said...

Remember when we were taking that cross country trip? And we were in some corn fields in the middle of nowhere and we saw those strange lights in the sky? And that bright light shone right into the car? And I was freaking out and hyperventilating, but you were all cool and like, "shoot, shoulda brought my sunglasses." Remember that?

And do you remember what happened next?

I hope you do, because it's all a blank from there for me.

Kiwi Nomad said...

Geeee I remember the day I banged into you at the local fair. You only had one baby then, and we just abandoned her into the surprised arms of Darwin, while we took off looking for adventure. The ferris wheel was our first exploit, and also our last. The silly wheel came to a halt while we were right up the top. At first it was kind of fun up there as we spied on all the goings on down below. But eventually our stomachs realised one hot dog wasn't enough food for the day, and we started crying like banshees to be rescued. Some burly firemen had to come and retrieve us- and that was quite the most exciting part of the whole short adventure.

Mrs. Zummo said...

Remember the time you came to DC, and we all went to the Natural History Museum. You were adamant that we hide and spend the night, like Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. We would have made it too if your girls hadn't convinced the gullible Jack to grab the Hope Diamond for dress up. Thankfully you have suck good political connections, and we were able to walk away with just a wrist slap.

mrsdarwin said...

You guys are always so funny, year after year! No wonder my dreams are so strange... :)

lissla lissar said...

I must say Betty's is the most nightmare-inducing. In a good way.

I remember Mrs. Darwin before she had the surgery, and still had all her arms. I know it must have been difficult growing up with the fifth eye through the back of her head, and the reptilian pincer claws, but she never complained, even when boys she liked called her 'lizard-girl'. And the extra limbs were useful. You never wanted to armwrestle her, and she always got whatever seat she wanted on the bus.

I'm sure having them taken off made life a little easier, but I bet she still sometimes misses their pretty iridescent scales.

Anonymous said...

To this day, I blame myself. If only I had not stepped away from the pram to smell the roses. Yet how could I have known, that the Giant New Zealand Eagle, long thought to be extinct, had one more appearance to make in human history, swooping as soon as my back was turned to take one twin from the pram, leaving me and your sister disconsolate.

We stared after it, too shocked even to scream, as it dwindled into the clear cerrulean sky, you a faint speck beneath.

As my other babies were born, and grew, I often told them of the lost child, keeping your memory alive. And we alway lit a candle for your soul on Sundays when we gathered in prayer.

It was many years later that your twin rang me excitedly from the United States, where she was attending a conference. She had seen a person with the same heart shaped birthmark in the same place on her face that I had described so often.

Approached, you confirmed your identity, with an incredible tale of survival. We were amazed to hear how the eagle took you home to its nest in the high Southern Alps. Your earliest memories were of it teaching you to hunt rabbits - a skill that allowed you to keep it alive some years later when its feathers faded to white, and it could no longer fly.

You must have been six or seven when the eagle died. You made your way to the coast, a half-wild child with only the rudiments of human language.

Falling asleep in a comfortable nest of canvas on - as you thought - a rocking platform of wood, you woke to find yourself far out to sea.

The rest of your inspiring story of courage and determination is too long to tell here. Suffice it to say that the captain, who adopted you and raised you as his own, has my eternal gratitude, and that you always have a home here in your far distant birthplace.

Author Known said...

Oh, Mrs. Darwin, my favorite memory of you is when we met in Beverly Hills that incredibly lovely afternoon in May (or was it June?), back when we were (in retrospect) mere girls. We, of course, thought we were quite sophisticated by then. We walked by the shops, gazing at the displays, and one time went in and looked at the crazy handbags - at $4,000 each! The best part, though, was when we had tea outside, under a cloudless Southern California sky, and talked about things spiritual and political, until it was time to leave. It was a memory I'll cherish always. These days the wisdom and good sense of humor in your posts, as well as the extremely odd-looking, but fabulously expensive handbag I never use (and only recently finally paid off), often remind me of that wonderful day.

Emily J. said...

I, for one, don't wish you a happy birthday, Mrs. Darwin, even a belated one, because I'm still too mad about the time you wore the same dress as me to the prom.

CMinor said...

I remember the time Mrs. Darwin played the part of the Soubrette in my Paul McCartney scenario one post down in the combox. And thank you, Tex, for emphasizing the fact that I muffed up the lyrics to Wonderful Christmastime.

Happy belated, MrsD!