After typing this title, I realized that I've had a lot of "incidents" in my life.
You can rest assured that not all of these were caused by me. In fact I've been an innocent victim in at least one or two of them. Here is one:
It was 1988 or 89, I'm not exactly sure which, but I do remember where I was when "it" happened. My roommates at Cambridge Court Apartments and I were minding our own business watching t.v. one night in our living room. I do remember that it was a Sunday.
All of a sudden the front door flew open and a duck was thrown into our apartment. I know it was thrown because I saw hands throwing it in. I wish we had seen who the hands belonged to, though I do have my suspicions. (Ok, so maybe this incident WAS provoked by a practical joke or two that we'd pulled on other people who lived in our complex. Most of them were done to cute boys. Some were done to the roommates of the cute boys.)
One thing I could testify to in a court of law is that when ducks get scared they, um, poop. A lot. We literally had poop flying from one end of the room to the other, along with the duck. I don't think anything or anyone was spared.
It took us a minute to get our wits about us and then we did what girls do in an emergency. We called the cute guys in another apartment to come rescue us. I think we tried a few different ones before we found someone that was available.
This is Dave. He was cute, available and willing to help. I had actually dated Dave a couple of times. (He was a few years older than me, maybe four or five, so he made me nervous though I don't know why. He was a great guy and always a perfect gentleman, which is more than I can say about some of the other guys I dated back then. I think anyone much older than me made me nervous. I'm funny that way. I'm not sure if I've grown out of it or not.) Coincidentally (or not), Dave didn't call me again after this incident. Maybe he likes girls who aren't afraid of ducks in their apartments. (I really do look like a pansy here, don't I? I think I'm actually standing on the furniture.)
After Dave left, we got to work cleaning up all the trails of wet duck poop. Then we all fought over who got to take the first shower.
I hope we remembered to bake Dave some cookies or something. It would be the least we could do. I never did think to ask what he did with the duck. I hope he, along with Dave, had a nice life.