Since two authors were nice enough to feature me on their blogs (and another asked but I have NO clue what to write about for her). I thought maybe it was time to return the favor and start an author/blogger spotlight of my own.
I’m naming it “Trauma Llama” because I’m a fan of rhyming and thanks to one of my Twitter crushes, Melissa (aka @LilyElement), I’m influential in llamas on Klout.
Now the idea here is to share something from your life that caused you a bit of humorous trauma. Maybe at the time it was horrible but looking back on it now, you get a perverse little chuckle. Or your mother, aunt, father, and grandmother find humor in incessantly reminding you about that ONE time… Whatever it is, I want to know about it. Write me up a post about your trauma llama moment and then give me whatever you want me to PIMP LIKE MAD, YO. Preferably book-related. (Pimping your little brother’s sweet air brush company specializing in canine halloween make-up in a small town across the world probably won’t do either of us any favors)
My Trauma Llama Moment – Introduction
Mine is the story behind my belief that Peeps Are Evil. (Note the BOLD letters. Bold means it’s IMPORTANT :D)
First, for my foreign visitors, allow me to explain what a Peep is.
A peep is an American marshmallow candy made by the Just Born candy company. If an American family celebrates Easter, chances are they buy at least one box of Peeps. The original shape, a yellow chick, is the oldest of shapes and colors however the bunny shape has been around for decades as well. (Check the candy maker’s web site for more history) These days the Peep has infiltrated other holidays with other clever shapes and colors. Bunnies and chicks are now available in yellow, pink, blue and green while ghosts, cats, pumpkins, snow men and gingerbread men shapes are available for the appropriate holiday season.
In short, their evil is SPREADING.
Seriously, any candy that can be put through these kinds of tests and come out unphased must be evil.
My Trauma Llama Moment – The Story
Picture if you will an idyllic spring Sunday morning. A bungalow sits on a tiny plot of land in Massachusetts sandwiched between other small family homes. The Breton family has just finished their traditional Polish Easter breakfast of cold sliced kielbasa sausage, cheese & crackers, eggs and babka–strange considering we’re all French Canadian without a single Polish person in the bunch. Chock it up to growing up in a predominantly Polish area of Massachusetts. But I digress…
Three-year-old Anya is in her Easter best, a frilly monstrosity of a dress that makes her cringe every time she’s forced to see it now. She’s sent out into the back yard (garden for the Brits) to hunt for Easter eggs. Anya is hoping for CANDY because even at three, she’s a sugar fiend.
Anya scours the grass behind the house with the finely tuned vision of a three-year-old hopped up on pork products and cheese. She sweeps the area beside the old garage. Ah HAH! She’s found a pink egg!
Wait a second. It’s plastic. And rattling…
Anya fumbles with the curious pink thing. Finally she gets it open to find… A QUARTER! HOLY MOTHER OF CHICKPEES! (hey, don’t hate, y’all. Twenty-five cents was a big deal back in 1980 when Penny Candy really WAS a penny!)
Though our intrepid hunter has found a worthy prize, it isn’t candy. She turns to continue the hunt. Sweeping across the ground, she stumbles upon a bright green egg! “Woo!” she squeals out of mouth stinking of cheese breath. Her stubby little legs pound against the ground in happiness. A few fumbles later, hallelujah! It’s a Hershey’s Kiss! Finally some CANDY!
But alas, our huntsgoober is not satisfied with the bounty of a quarter and one Hershey’s Kiss. No, no. She must have MORE.
Combing across the yard she comes to the tall fence separating the property from the anti-social dweebs next door. BOOYAH! A BLUE plastic egg! Now we’re talking. This has to have more chocolate in it because it’s not rattling.
Chubby fingers scramble to get the egg open. It’s so difficult this time. Why? WHY? It must mean there is a MOTHERLOAD in there! Yes! YES! Anya dances about like the goober she already was. Her little nail gets under the seam in the egg and then….
A horrible yellow MONSTER blows up at her from the inside of the blue egg like some sort of evil Easter head crab with dead, black beady eyes! It’s going to INFECT her with crystalized sugar and turn her into a crazed marshmallow pusher! Anya tosses the plastic egg and it’s wicked cargo like the contagious abomination it is. A shriek pierces from her cherubim little mouth as the stubby legs that once danced goober-like now charge for the safety of the back porch.
And the worst part is, she lost the quarter and Hershey’s Kiss :/
I realize you might be a little confused by what happened. Well, the eggs were small. The Peep was big. It was stuffed inside. I opened the egg and BAM the thing exploded at me (it kind of unfurled but to a three-year-old with limited vocabulary and life-experiences, it exploded). I freaked out.
And I lied. The worst part was they FREAKIN VIDEOD IT. In 1980?! How?! How did they have a video camera?? That shit is NUTS.
So that’s my Trauma Llama moment. What’s yours? E-mail anya at anyabreton.com or hit me up on Twitter http://twitter.com/AnyaBreton