BroomI don’t know if y’all have had a chance to read Just Another Day with MrsTDJ but if you haven’t stop reading  this post and head over there now.  I’ll wait…

Specifically, what I wanted you to read is the post MrsTDJ wrote called “What Did Her 5 Fingers Say to My Face?”  Hilareeous!  Seriously.  In the post, Mrs TDJ describes an incident in which she was reprimanded by her parents after she was over the age of 18.  At the end, she asked if any of us have ever been snatched up by our parents?  Um, yeah.

First, let me give you a little background on the parentals.  They are both preachers.  Enough said.  Actually, that’s not true.  Dad was easy.   Mom, not so much.  My mom is about 5’1″ and a buck ten soaking wet in the middle of a monsoon wearing her longest faux fur coat.

Now back to my butt whupping…

We were in Mississippi and Iwas home from college for a visit, so I had to have been about 18 or 19 years old at the time.  My mom was sweeping the kitchen/dining room floors ~ the floors had carpet but Mom was old school, no vacuum for her.  We were talking about something ~ to this day I cannot remember what ~ I do remember that I had my back to my mother.  This is important, so remember that.

Meanwhile…  my twin sister was in her bedroom in the back of the house with the door shut listening to some music.  This is important, so remember that.

All of a sudden, a sound like a rushing mighty wind broke what I can only remember was a reasonable conversation about goodness knows what and I felt the broom handle slam across my back.  The next thing I heard was my mother yelling “Don’t you ever roll your eyes at me!”  What?  Since when did I grow eyes in the back of my head?  And when did I roll them?  The second time the broom handle cut through the air, I was up and out of my chair so fast, I don’t know what I thought I was gonna do but all I heard was my sister yelling “Daenel, Noooooooo!”

And like a scene from the Matrix, my sister was soaring through the air, her back bent in all sorts of inhuman contortions, hands flying faster than we could see them as she took the broom from my mother and saved me from what could possibly have been the last day of my life.

My mother, sister and I have discussed that day, many years later with us separated by miles and telephone lines.  Mom can’t remember what we were talking about either, the only thing she is sure of is that I, sitting with my back to her, rolled my eyes.

PS In her defense, I probably did roll my eyes, thinking that I was safe since my back was to her.