Hide-and-Seek

Having siblings is a wonderful thing. Lauren and I were reminiscing the other day (as we so frequently do) about some of our adventures throughout the years. Being the youngest of three girls really puts things into perspective for you. I mean, growing up you have the usual actions that tag you as the youngest: hand-me-downs and a push-over attitude (mainly b/c everything through adolescence was handed to you), but somewhere on the third child disclaimer there must have been some fine print stating: Official guinea pig as needed.

Man, we used to love playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I can remember getting the whole neighborhood together on the weekends right at dusk to start playing. Ah, good times! Though, the most memorable hide-and-seek moment comes from a game between just us Davis girls. This was last year...ok, kidding. I must have been about 8, Leslie was 10, and Lauren was topping out at 13. Old enough to know better.

In accordance with our aberrant adolescent attitudes, we decided against taking the game outside. Instead, we had brilliantly come to the conclusion "inside has way better hiding spots!"

There were always rules (we were way too bossy not to have rules):

1. Upstairs only
2. No turning on the lights
3. Switching spots permitted if the occasion calls for it

So, off go the lights upstairs and there we are, Lauren and I, coordinating our hiding efforts as quickly as possible. Leslie, who was named It right from the get-go (we weren't always the nicest to Leslie...but we love you now! :)), resided in one of the four bedrooms upstairs counting to fifty.

I should probably add that Lauren and I were inseparable growing up. I wanted to do everything she did. So, when it came time to find a hiding spot Lauren was the go-to girl. We scurried around for a good ten seconds before testing the first spot. Shower...no good, b/c the water inevitably got turned on at some point during the hunting process. Under the sink...no good, nowhere to hide all the stuff already under there. Closet...no good, dead giveaway. Behind the door...no good, you're trapped once she suspects the spot. Then Lauren whispers a brilliant idea into my ear, "Evelyn, we're going to hide you in the dryer! It's empty, you're tiny...it's perfect!"

With my perma-grin shining ever so brightly in the dark laundry room, I climbed right in with no other objection except, "Don't forget about me, ok?!" Lauren, in a hasty rush to find her own hiding spot, secures the dryer door and hurries off. After a good five minutes pass I realize that I have the perfect spot! Not only has Leslie not found me, but I've kept her looking for five whole minutes (give or take some time...dryer time goes a lot slower than normal time).

Then, as my cognitive timer strikes the ten minute mark, I start to question my decision. A number of things begin to run through my mind at this point: Am I going to run out of air in here? What if someone turns the dryer on? Are dryers made to open from the inside? Am I going to die in here? Not to mention I had a mental picture of a dog being stuffed into a microwave before exploding (too many scary movies). Driving myself into an eight-year-old ball of dryer fear and fury, I kicked the dryer door open and poked my head out gasping for what I thought was my last breath.

Yes, I did overreact...as most children do, but I'm happy to report none of my fear-induced questions became reality. Although, that would have probably made for a better climax to my story: Then out of nowhere I heard footsteps approaching the dryer...getting closer and closer. Before I could say or do anything I hear the control nob to the dryer clicking past the first cycle and on to the permanent press cycle...dun, dun, dun. With one flick of the wrist I was 75lbs of tumbling flesh headed for a permanent press.

Oh well! I like my ending pretty good seeing that I was the innocent victim experiencing it.

Anyway, to better understand the consequences to these dryer actions, you must understand my parents. Mom and Dad had purchased a new dryer some years before this incident. During their perfect dryer selection, they decided the most user-friendly door would be one that opened like an oven door. So you see, in order for me to climb out of the dryer I had to sit on the door itself. In my opinion, I think there should be a weight limit posted on the dryer door...you know, for situations such as these that may arise.

I think it's obvious at this point what happened...I broke the door. In my defense, I didn't actually break the door off the hinges, I just warped it a little (generously speaking). Ok, so we may have had to rig the door closed with a three foot long piece of wood lodged ever so tightly between the handle and the door jamb for years after that, but a small price to pay for a daughter saved from being dried alive if you ask me.

Needless to say, we got quite the lecture from Mom: "You three are so selfish, you don't think about anyone but yourselves! Just wait until you have kids and they destroy everything you own! See how you like it!" Do to my PG-rated blog, I'm of course leaving out the profanities that were thrown around in that lecture. In retrospect, we deserved it...and a good beating.

I think it is of utmost importance to explain why it is I was left in the dryer for so long. It seems Lauren didn't have enough time to find an adequate hiding spot (due to the time it took to stuff me in the dryer I'm assuming). So, upon the completion of Leslie's counting, Lauren was found and tagged almost immediately. Then, our parents informed us it was time for dinner, so Lauren and Leslie headed downstairs to eat....without me. At least their priorities were exposed early in life.

***Oh, and I forgot to mention that we, the wonderful daughters that we are today, did in fact purchase a new dryer for the folks. This one has a door that opens to the side...just in case. :)