Only nineteen at the time, I recall her telling a few of us the story of The Day Her Ass Fell. She looked a thousand acres beyond our heads and recanted, "I was in front of the mirror, naked, brushing my long raven hair." She pretended to drag a brush past the length of her current bob. "Then, all of a sudden* I spotted something in the mirror! What was that??"
Ever the storyteller, she leapt up from her chair, almost knocking it backwards on the floor. "What the-- whaa??" Now full on bending over looking through her legs.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!! IT WAS MY ASS!!! MY ASS FELL!!!" at the top of her lungs.
Everyone exploded. I howled until streaks of mascara stained the front of my t-shirt. I laughed at her delivery and the absurdity of it all. My toned muscles and elastic skin, unscathed by the ravages of gravity, could not even venture to relate. So, I laughed it up, at her and her fallen ass' expense. She ate up our chuckles and got high.
Now, almost daily, I think back to that story. But this time, I'm no longer laughing. This is not a laughing matter. I need to either a) get to a gym tout suite or b) dismantle Einstein's theory of general relativity. Both seem equally difficult to me right now.
*there's always an 'all of a sudden' in every story