When we were teenagers, one of my sister’s favorite games was to walk up to me when I had a glass of tea and gulp it down. She seemed to always enjoy this. I could almost always expect it to happen.
One day when she was home from college, I decided to fix her.
I fixed my supper and put my plate on the table. Then, I made two glasses of iced tea. One for drinking, which I placed on the kitchen floor beside the leg of the chair next to where I would be sitting, and the other to go on the table.
Before I placed the glass on the table, I added a little something extra. I loaded that glass with garlic salt. I used most of an eight ounce bottle of garlic salt. I stirred the mixture up really good and placed in on the table. I then sat down to eat.
A little while later, my mother came into the kitchen and sat down beside me and started talking to me. We were having a great conversation and I heard my sister coming in the door. She walked up to the table and stood between my mother and me, acting like she was really wanting to converse with me.
Shortly, I saw that evil grin she got as she reached for my glass of tea. I shouted, “Don’t drink my tea.” She guzzled most of the glass down before the taste actually hit her. She ran to the sink and started spitting out the terrible concoction.
Meanwhile, I am rolling in the floor laughing at what had just taken place. My mother was trying to understand what had happened and why I thought it was so funny. When I was finally able to talk, I shared it with her and she, too, found it very funny.
My sister tells the story slightly differently. Her version goes something like this:
I had just walked across two deserts with no food or drink. I had saved a caravan of orphans from a tornado and the last hundred miles of the journey I had my faithful camel, Leon, strapped to my back because he just could not make it on his own.
As I approached town, I stopped to fix the water pump on a car driven by a group of nuns and I thought to myself how good that water must taste. I had to leave the water, though, so the nuns could make it to their bingo tournament.
I managed to drag my dehydrated body up the back steps and onto the back porch. I thought to myself, if I can just make it into the kitchen my dear, sweet brother would share a drop or two of his iced tea with me.
This was what kept me going. I dragged myself through the back door and up to the table and then he poured that vile concoction down my throat, nearly killing me.
It is up to you which version you choose to believe.
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