Radical Day of Fun

In preparation for my 20th birthday, my roommate and friend Marian warned me I was being taken out to dinner, so I should reserve that Saturday for mystery fun. Neither of us had any idea then that Marian would never get to wish me a happy 21st, so I'm doubly greatful my 20th was filled with such wacky fun.

Here's the conversation I had with Marian a couple days prior to the event:

Me: We're going out to dinner?

Marian: Mmm hmm.

Me: Where?

Marian: You don't get to know yet.

Me: Who's coming?

Marian: You, me, Anne and Deb.

Me: Is it a fancy place?

Marian: Ummm. Yup.

Me: Should I dress up?

Marian: I would.

Me: Should I wear hose?

Marian: God no! . . . Maybe when you get married.

***

When Saturday came, so had a package from my parents, and other friends came to hang out in the dorm room Marian and I shared while I opened that. This was the pre-party, and it was mellow but fun. It included the cake my parents arranged to be sent from a local bakery. Several people gave me toy or stuffed dinosaurs because of a misunderstanding that I was collecting them. The cutest ones remain with me as memories of those early years in college. Anne gave me a giant helium-filled banana-shaped balloon that said something about "bunches of fun."

Some days later the big banana's ribbon leash came loose and the balloon edged its way over to our oscillating fan. Afraid it would get sucked into the fan, Marian and I executed a rescue mission that sounds more like some bizarre drinking game, particularly since we decided on it while not entirely clothed. I forget what that part was all about.

Marian had a homemade "reacher" consisting of a dowel stick with an L-screw attached to one end. She skillfully used it to dress, run a washcloth over her face and dozens of other small tasks her juvenile rheumatoid arthritis made more difficult. Her stick was key to our banana-balloon rescue caper.

Here was the plan: If we turned the fan off, the balloon rose to the ceiling, completely out of our reach from our chairs. Turn the fan on and the big foil banana edged down behind the fan as though it might hurl itself into the whirling blades. One of us would drive up in front of the wind from the fan and bat the balloon downward and in front of the fan using Marian's stick. The challenge was then for that person to speedily reverse out of the way so the other could swoop in and reach for the balloon in the brief moment it dipped low enough to catch.

We were working with two electric wheelchairs (well, mine a scooter) and a dormroom floorspace of maybe ten-feet square, so half-naked, dowel-batting, chair-swooping and arm-lunging required teamwork and coordination not improved by giggling. I forget if we were sober or not, but in retrospect, probably not.

***

More on the birthday dinner itself tomorrow. I'm extending my radical fun through the weekend.

For other people's radical or drunken fun, check out the links at Sly Civilian.