Spaghetti And A Robbery

I finally feel better after my week of death. Now everytime I hear someone cough I duck under the nearest table like they just pulled a gun out in a spaghetti restaurant. I ain't catching that shit again. Get away from me.

Speaking of pulling guns out in restaurants:

I was about four when we first moved to Ivory Coast. When I was not much older than that my family and a couple families who were missionaries with us went out to eat. I don't know if it was really a spaghetti restaurant, but I was eating spaghetti and meatballs so for the sake of this story it was.

I tell this story as it has been told unto me.

We were all sitting at our table when a woman and two men came into the restaurant waving guns. Everyone became frightened, as is natural when death is staring you in the face. Everyone ducked under the table for safety when my mom saw a tiny pair of dangling legs. Yes, I was apparently unfazed by the current happenings and was still sitting in the chair enjoying my delicious plate of noodles and sauce.

My mother screamed a scream of horror and shock. She pulled me onto the floor with the rest of them. I was safe but most likely unhappy that my dinner was interrupted. It's not like they actually shot anyone.

Yes, we were all safe as was everyone in the restaurant (if I remember correctly at least), but this story is one of those 'cute' childhood stories that still haunts me. Even when we were in Africa we would drive by the restaurant and my mom would say, Oh look! There's the place where Kara kept eating her spaghetti even though we were trying to hide from the big bad people with guns.

Then everyone would laugh and I would sit in the backseat and wonder when this story would cease to exist from my life.

The answer is never, my friends. Never.

What are some of your childhood stories that you still have to hear over. and over. and over. and over again?