Monday, March 31, 2008

Ada & Care Bear

Hi, this is Care Bear. Ada and I are best friend since she was born. Daddy bought me to see Ada when she was born, and we went home together.
I am playing dress up today. Mommy made me a costume so I can show you what Ada looks like. Since she is so unstylished and so unfashionable under the hospital gown, with half of her hair shaved off, I can show you what she looks like in a cuter way. First Ada has a cast on her right foot for the broken ankle. On the left leg she has to wear a cute, butterfly printed bootie which will help keep her foot at the right angle. This one she has to wear it off and on every 2 hours. Next is her right arm which she has to wear adjustable brace because she tightens her arm and bend it all the time. She is so strong and hold on tight to that arm. You can ask Abby about the arm-wrestling match between her and Ada. Next Ada has to wear collar for the trach, the grey foam with a hole so she can breath. Now there is an I-V tube that goes through her arm,feeding tube that goes through her stomach, and a tube for her pee-pee, but you get the picture.
Now, every afternoon, the nurses will put a black helmet on Ada and let her sit up on the chair. This help her to breath easier and change her position a little bit. All the nurses love Ada because she is so beautiful and daddy keeps bringing them food and candies.
Mommy is ok, she gets to go home everyday to do laundry, eat dinner and find some socks to wear. Those darn socks keep disappeared. She make her famous ankle bracelets and sell them to the nurses.
I'll come back and tell you more about Ada. Bye for now.
Care Bear

Friday, March 28, 2008

Little Memories

This is completely random but I've decided to share it anyway in line with the other roommate stories Kirsten has posted. It takes place in our tiny little dorm room freshman year at Collins. Our room was smaller than most, but we felt fortunate because it was on the corner and thus and two windows. And unlike any other room in Collins, it had a trippy mural that spanned all four walls- left by the previous inhabitants. But the main point is, even with the beds bunked, it was small. Add to that two desks, a dresser, the mini-fridge, an overflowing makeshift milk-crate shelf and there just wasn't a lot of space.
Ada also had a Brita pitcher. (Because lets face it, nobody wanted to drink the dorm tap water and nobody really wanted to pay $1.40 for a bottle of water –even if it was only 1.4 meal points). This particular evening the lovely Brita pitcher was resting peacefully on top of the dresser. John was over and we all listening to some music a Honduran friend of mine had burnt. Salsa, bachata, merengue, somewhere along the line Ada and John began to feel inspired and decided to dance in the 1.5 square feet of free space left in the room. I decided to hide and observe from the only safe place in the room- the cave of my bottom bunk bed. Arms flying, bodies spinning, it was only a matter of time before the beloved Brita pitcher went crashing to the ground.
Ada was immediately on the ground in front of the shattered pieces. I'd only ever seen the girl so devastated one or maybe two other times in my life. Water was flowing everywhere and the rest of us were forced to clean it up while she mourned the broken pitcher.
Today I am also thinking about our school trip to China. There was Mr. Ren -reassuring our parents we would be safe ("In China there are no guns, people use knife, so it take like five minutes to kill you") And there we were, two silly girls traveling internationally with no parents, thrilled to be going and anxious to put our 25 word (mind you between the two us we MIGHT have known 25 words in Chinese) vocabulary to use.
For me it was the first time I could remember getting on a plane. And both of us were nervous about flying. Every plane we boarded (and there were lots of them to get to Beijing—Indianapolis to Denver to San Francisco to Tokyo and finally to China) I went straight to the airplane bathroom to pee (no matter how many times I had gone before boarding) and Ada went straight to her seat to find the little vomit bag (because she puked ever time without fail during take-off on that trip).
Everyday we negotiated relentlessly with the group about what time we would leave the hotel (8 o'clock please Mr.Ren, 7 o'clock is way too early) and also about where we would eat lunch…McDonald's? -PLEASE we CAN'T TAKE any more Chinese food. Or else we begged Mr.Ren to eat the fish eyeballs so our food couldn't look at us. We generally ignored the tour guides (always following 20 feet behind so we could discuss everything NOT related to the history of the Forbidden City or the Great Wall or whatever famous ancient piece of Chinese history we were supposed to be learning about) But mostly we just had a fabulous time.
All nonsense really, but those are some of my favorite Ada memories.
With love,

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Thank you

On days that I feel it is unfair to have this trauma happen to me, my daughter, my family, and I turn to my blog and my daughter's blog to read all the comments that many friends and strangers have left. We are comforted by all the blessings and thoughts. Even though I do not reply all the time, please know that I really appreciate all the kind words that have helped me get up every morning and hope to see the miracle happen.

Letter from Karen Chudhri

Ada was and is a dear friend to me, and I greatly enjoy her company. She has this aura around her where everyone feels happy and she makes everyone just feel better about themselves. I frequently recall going shopping with her at the College Mall in Bloomington, eating chicken wings at Mother Bear's Pizza, sitting up late chatting, or simply just hanging out at Ray and John's house watching silly movies and laughing; Ada always made me laugh. She is such a caring, generous and incredible person, I am honored to know her and call her a friend.
My prayers and my family's are with Ada and with the rest of your family. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to help; I am currently in between Chicago and Detroit, so may not get a chance to visit Indianapolis for a while, however; would like to see Ada soon. I read through your blog, and I know I'm definitely worse than John at making origami cranes (Ada and John always mocked my mechanical skills), but I will definitely make some for her. Please let her know that I'm thinking about her and that I know she will pull through this, much stronger than before.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Ada, My Lactose-Intolereant Semi-vegan Roommate

(Posted by Kirsten Olson)

This time last year, Ada lived with me in Bloomington. That semester was magic. All of us living together in Rose House (Peter, Marisa, Ada, and me) fit with one another so well that it just seemed right we should be living together. Our fondness for each other was most expressed through our insults. No slander taboo, no pejorative too strong, and swear words were terms of endearment. I remember getting home from class to find Ada sitting on the couch watching Family Guy or Robot Chicken and greeting me with, “Uh, it’s you again?” I knew she was happy to see me.
These next few memories may seem somewhat non-sequiter, but they are some of my favorites from those few months. Ada, Marisa, and I were walking down the isle in Target, Ada and Marisa side-by-side with me trailing behind. Three times Ada and Marisa’s hands accidentally bumped, at which point Ada grabbed Marisa’s hand then they started skipping and shouting, “We’re in loooooove.”
Some of you may know that for a short time Ada tried to become a vegan. Apparently by vegan she meant not eating any animal products . . . except bacon. Marisa was frying bacon one Saturday morning when Ada (who had been awoken by the scent) came stumbling into the kitchen. She kept repeating, “You aren’t seeing this. This isn’t happening.” as she shoved slice after slice of bacon into her mouth. Marisa cooked bacon often. Needless to say Ada’s vegan phase was a short one. (Perhaps we should try frying bacon in her hospital room...)
Ada is lactose intolerant. Ada loves to eat. Ada loves to eat cheese. Ada is lactose intolerant. Unfortunately, her love and her body do not agree. Ada, being the hopeless romantic that she is, often would choose cheese with little regard to the consequences. Her roommates however also suffered from these consequences. Cheese makes Ada fart. A lot. Fortunately, they are not the smelly kind, or the loud kind, but the little-funny kind. Even if I wanted to, I could not count the times we were watching TV and Ada would fart, not once, not twice, but many times and with regularity. You could use them to keep time. With each fart, or more appropriately toot, we would snicker and tease her. Maybe that’s why Ada brought her own chair and usually sat in it. It was her tooting chair. Ada, your chair is still here and waiting for the next time you eat macaroni and cheese.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

On Top of the World

Oh Ada,
I am thinking of you more than ever. In my dreams these days you are always there, radiating beauty and charm. In fact, mostly you are here in my waking moments too. Every time I hear French I am thinking of the weekend we met up in Paris. Riding the elevator up the side Effiel tower, feeling like we were on top of the world- almost literally. You, saying (with the same candid charm as always) that you were the luckiest girl in the world. And me agreeing, only slightly jealous, that you were the luckiest girl in the world. :) And probably the happiest- how many people have it all and appreciate the fact that they have it all? How many times do we get to think-- this is a perfect moment?
That's what I was thinking when I told you that we would be thinking of that moment for the rest of our lives- looking back on that time when you met me at the airport in Paris to continue our tour of the world. But just to clarify Ada, when I said "the rest of our lives" I meant until we were little old grannies, 116 years old (116 so we could live in 3 different centuries) like we planned when I met you in 3rd grade.
Lots of love,

Saturday, March 22, 2008

What ever happened that night

The day after the accident, there was an article in the local newspaper about Ada, saying that she was in critical condition and that her car had hit a pole for an unknown reason. It was 2 a.m. on Sunday morning - people might want to know what was she doing out at the time.
Ada and her brother worked that night and came home after 11 o'clock. Showered and changed, all 3 kids piled up on my bed and we started talking. It was a normal ritual we had when Ada was home, which is not often enough. She is a busy girl, always going somewhere, doing something and constantly talking to somebody. About 1:15 she told me that she was going out to see a friend. This particular friend of hers had called many times before when he needed a ride home or was too drunk to find his car, and off she would go to pick him up and take him home. This was not the first time. That's who she is, always worring about other people. She went, and half way there, her car got hit by another car. The driver who was drunk, walked off with no harm, admitted to the police that he had been drinking from 4 o'clock in the afternoon till 1 a.m.
I am angry, oh yes, and I think I have a right to be angry. My daughter can no longer jump into my bed, with a bag of chips, telling me about her day, how much money she made, who she had met or talked to today. We talked about everything. Then she would curl up next to me and fall asleep. She won't be coming home soon. Now all I can do is to sit at her bedside, holding her hand, telling her how my day went, with a little hope that she can hear what I just said.
I will forgive and forget, when I am ready. I know I have to, but please don't tell me to do it now.
For her friend, I hope that he can admit about his drinking problem. He has to call the cab from now on. Many people have told me that it is not his fault. Really? She was in her pajamas when he called. I have a right to be angry, don't you think? If your friend called and told you that she would be there in 15 minutes but she did not show up at all, would you wait 2 weeks to show up at the hospital? He was out of the country, someone told me. Spring break in Mexico, laying in the sun while my daughter laid in hospital bed with all the life support she can get. John was flying to New York when he heard the news, and bought another plane ticket back to see her. Grant took a week off and flew in as soon as he could. David came all the way from France to see her, missed his flight, slept in the DC airport for a night, and many friends who live far way have been asking their parents if they can visit Ada. Many have been here everyday or as much as they can.
I should appreciate that there are so many people who love her, care for her, have been visiting her and praying for her, which I do. But, let me be angry, so I can keep my sanity, please.

Friday, March 21, 2008

“Stylz”… or, How the Cooler Half Lives.

(Posted by John Olson)

This blog is devoted to that certain quality of everythingness which so few of us seem to possess. I certainly don’t. (What’s wrong with tube socks under Teva sandals?) I refer to that ever elusive beast: “Style.”

You see, there is no book for style. It’s like the Tao—it can never be done, it can only be. “Style.” For those of us which lack it… which, let’s face it, are most of us… it’s nothing more than a bitter reminder of how cool we will never be. But for those with it (hence the mid-80’s phrase, “with it”), style is a way of life.

Pornsawan Silapiruti, Ada’s mom, certainly has style. Her house is Feng Shui. She makes trippy polymer-clay bead jewelry, which sells to the chic of the chic on 4 continents. And, as she recently reminded me… she’s just better than me.

You see there is an ancient Chinese/Japanese/Korean/other legend… (they all seem to claim it as their own)… that if you make 1000 origami paper cranes you are granted one wish. Make 1000 cranes, and you can make someone well.

There’s really no reason to describe this legend at any greater length… for some reason, everybody already knows about it. I haven’t figured that one out yet, but believe me. You’d heard it before, hadn’t you?

So it all started when I bumbled around and managed to make one pathetic, lopsided leprous little duck-like “creature.” And I only managed this, mind you, with the constant support (or should I say criticism) of my sister. Well, my sister thought it was noble, so she made one. Then Abby made one. Then they made some more. Then Pornsawan caught on… and she began making them too.

I went back to NY with the intention of making as many cranes as I could. And not that I’m one to boast, but I got pretty good at it. When it came time to return to Indiana and see Ada again (about a week later), I presented Pornsawan with a box filled with about 200 of these things. And I went All Out. I bought professional “artsy” origami paper from the Japanese book store at Bryant Park, and… Look, they were nice.

Pornsawan opened the box, signaling (so I expected) the beginning of a truly heart-warming exchange. She looked inside, removed one crane, pulled on the head and tail to demonstrate that mine can’t fly… looked dead into my eyes and said, “Yours don’t make right.”

Thank you Pornsawan.

That’s how Ada and her mom work. They “duplicate and elaborate” … taking your idea, making it better, but also making it their own. But can you blame them? As I said before, they’re just better at it.

I made 201 cranes… one ugly, 200 cute.
Pornsawan made twice at many, twice as big, twice at cute… some from ornate paper, some from hand-selected photographs… they’re all lifelike, and flap their wings… And of course, she’s organized crane folding operations on both coasts, and in three other countries.

Are you starting to see what I mean?

Okay, what does this have to do with Ada?... Well, to begin with, she looks beautiful. I mean, she’s suffered from an extremely traumatic, near fatal, car crash… and guess what? She looks better than you on the Oscar Runway.
I began to understand this early on in our relationship… If we went shopping (which is another way of saying that she went shopping, and I came along) I would always try to pick out the one item she was going to buy. Eventually, I figured out a very successful method: Always pick the ugliest article of clothing in the entire store. You see, none of us would purchase such hideous rags for our mortal enemies, let alone our loved ones. But she would always prove me wrong, without even trying it on. I would totally forget about the disaster, until she dragged it out of her bottomless closet some evening… And invariably, she would turn heads all night.

Hair is another brilliant example. Girl could Not keep the same hairstyle for more than two months at a time. And she didn’t look through Cosmo either. She’d pick out some, doo that looked like Ellen DeGeneres’ head after being dipped in clover honey and thoroughly licked over by a starving mule. And yet, it always worked? Don’t ask, don’t tell.

So right now, “most” of her hair is buzzed… with the exception of one long tuft on the right side (purple and brown, mind you). And over the buzzed region, she’s got about 300 zigzagged staples, roughly in the shape of a flux capacitor. And don’t forget about the bone flap (aka, chunk of skull), roughly the size of a tea-saucer, missing from her left temple. And as predicted… Well, I won’t give it away, but you might want to pay closer attention to this month’s Vogue.

What’s the message in all this?: Don’t try, you’ll never be cool. (just kidding… mostly).

No, the message is: Changes or not changes. Ada is Never the same. She’s Stylish. I would like to repeat one of my previous comments...

Prompt: “What if she comes back different?”
My response: “Don’t talk too soon, it might be an improvement.”

Ada’s like her mother. She can take anything around her, make it functional and enviably chic. Don’t worry about Ada, she’s fashionista. Worry about the impending blow to your self-esteem when she wakes up.

For Ada with Love

Dear Ponsawan, I don't know what to say. I've avoided writing, because every time I try, I fail, and because I've been holding out to be able to call Ada and tell her I've been thinking about her constantly and to hear about the awful hospital food. But that day is a ways off. It's still almost hard to believe sometimes. My mom called right away when she saw the story in the paper; Ray and Devon let me know while I was still on the phone. Until Archie's note online, I thought it was a mistake. Honestly, at first, I found it morbid and disconcerting to see people leaving messages on her Facebook wall and other places, verbalizing thoughts with the knowledge that she wouldn't see them right away. It bothered me, because it was as if people couldn't wait to tell Ada herself once she woke up, "any day now," I thought. Mostly it was just my way of avoiding the reality. Every day I waited for news that she'd be awake so I could buy plane tickets to come see her. Of course, deep down I knew it wasn't so simple, and also that law school would keep me from flying to Indiana. Even weeks later, I feel strange writing anything, but if it will help Ada, I have to. I don't know what to say. I suppose that draws a strong contrast to when I first met Ada; we talked--and ate--constantly. Actually, in truth, I don't remember how we even met. There's no doubt that that speaks to the depth and richness of our relationship. It's as though there never was a time I existed without her. I remember staying up all ni ght, talking on phones with dying batteries, talking about everything...and nothing. I'd only experienced that uncomplicated, raw, and captivating connection with one other person, and after they got grounded for it, my late nights were lacking until Ada came along. Ada always had stories and plans and thoughts and chatter. The hours passed effortlessly, and it was all Ada's energy that did it, even into the summer after graduating. I remember going out for food at times when everyone else in the whole state slept soundly, it seemed. We never needed sleep and never sated our hunger. We could do anything then; fortunately for all of us, Ada still can. And she will. Words cannot convey the impact Ada's had on my life, and I'm just one of so many people who love her. Words are also completely inadequate to describe how much I wish I could see her and how useless I feel. I've not spent that much time with your family other than Ada, but my heart goes out to all of you. I've always admired the conviction with which she moves through life. She decides to do something, and she does it. Ada wanted to go to Spain, and she did. Despite all the bureaucratic and logistical hurdles, she pulled off a trip to France to see David, too. If not for the sloth-like pace of the visa process, she might have been there even longer. Over the past five years, she's set goals for the things she wanted and needed to do--finishing IU, working constantly, eating enough to feed a small nation, the Celica, Biloxi, Europe, and so many others. Ada broke every one of those goals, with a tenacity altogether lacking in most people our age. Even now, she's forging ahead with full force, and she'll exceed expectations. Really, it's her strength that keeps us all going, and not the other way around.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

I kiss her today

Today, after almost 3 weeks, I get to kiss her. She had another surgery to fix her broken ankle. Before the nurse wheeled her into the surgery room, she lowered the bedside barricade and let me kiss Ada. She will have a few screws and metal plate to hold her bones together. This surgery is nothing compare to the previous ones. The first one was right after she was life-lined to the hospital. The doctor opened her head and put pieces of her skull together. The second one was a few days later, when her brain was swollen which caused the high pressure in side the skull. To release the pressure, the doctor cut open her skull, kept the big chunk of it down stair somewhere (she can have it back later), and hope that the pressure would come down. It came down but she ended up having 100 staples on her head.
I spend the night at the hospital, on the couch, in the visitor lounge so I can catch the doctors when they do their round in the morning. Many of my friends had stopped by, many of Ada's friends had been hanging around, keeping me company and spend the night. With so many email and comments on my blog, I was overwhelmed by all the kind words and encouragement from around the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Many have dropped off meals at the house. Many came and pray for her.
Finally, they were able to do the MRI, the result was not good. It showed the damage in her brain stem. The doctor told us to prepare for the worst. The family had a meeting. We decided that as long as she still breathing, still fighting for her life, we will let her, and she did. She is now able to breath on her own. She opens her eyes, yawn, cough, moving her arms and legs, and we are trilled. Being young and healthy, she recovered at the unexpected rate. Still, she remains unconscious, but, I'm pretty sure, she smiles at me today.
I will blog more often and her friends will join me.

Never underestimate...

(Posted by John Olson)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Ada Silapiruti, it’s that she always has the ability to take a situation, and transform it into a more humiliating situation. A gift she inherited from her mother.

This sounds like an insult, and let’s be honest… it is. But it’s really more of an insult to those around her. Because people often attempt to forecast Ada’s choices and abilities and limitations… And she constantly puts those people to shame. I suppose the best way of describing it, is that she doesn’t play by the same rules that the rest of us do.

For example, there was the time she was ornery about vacationing in Chicago (Ada hates “coldness” in all forms except popsicles, hip-hop, and revenge). In fact, this story is about ice-cold revenge. She not only managed to have a wonderful time, she also managed to deprive me of all my insulating accoutrement, leaving me nigh on frostbitten for an entire weekend. This of course was unfortunate, but not specifically humiliating… Not humiliating, that is, until she succeeded in flagging the only radical Islamic cab driver in all of Chicago. Wrapped in my hat and both of my scarves, she looked like a mail-order bride from Saudi; and without any cover I looked like the great white hope. The ride was long, humiliating, and she loved every minute of it.

That’s really what I mean--she can twist any situation to her favor, while simultaneously demonstrating how much of fool you are for ever underestimating her ability to do so.

The best examples of this have to do with the activity that Ada despises more than any other on earth… and that includes, consequently, neuro-surgery. I refer, of course, to “studying.”

I like to think that she would never have survived molecular biology without the precious aid of her resident English major… And my assessment has not changed. In that situation, biology was the turbulent sea, I was her life raft. But of course, I was also playing with fate, and my hubris would be my downfall.

My first warning should have been the infamous “Walk of Shame.” You see, I was bombarding Ada with every guilt trip I could imagine in a rather pathetic attempt to convince her to fight her drowsiness, stay up, and study… the test being the following morning. She of course would have nothing to do with it, seizing every opportunity to pass out as undetectably as possible. Eventually, I gave up and asked, “Ada, what will it take for you to stay awake and study for this test?”

–By the way, never put the ball in her court… she look like a novice, but girl can Play.

Her proposal was that in order maintain arousal, she paint my toenails while we study. At first I was resistant to the idea, but after she explained to me that it was “clear” polish, I caved in. I admit I didn’t understand why anyone would purchase “clear” … I thought maybe it was like base coat. You know, like priming the walls before you paint them. (That’s the world I live in).

She painted my toenails with “nothing” and we studied all night. We both did well on the test in the morning, and everything went swimmingly. Until that is, I left to walk across campus. It was a beautiful, bright shining day, and I was strolling from one end of the campus to the other… enjoying the warmth in my tee-shirt, and shorts, and Birkenstock “Jesus” sandals. Everything was fine, until I began to notice that something about my general gravitation was forcing every passerby to stare at me with a most quizzical and almost painful expression.

Upon looking down, where should have resided 10 healthy toenails, was now a blinding collection hot-pink wonders. Apparently, by “clear” Ada had meant, “UV-activated.” In the noon-day sun, these hot-pink nuclear reactors were emitting enough light to burn the retinas clean off your eyeballs. I suppose that’s the reason why although the multitudes were staring, they couldn’t look directly at the event horizon… “ground zero.” I tried curling my toes under as I walked… but the duck-waddle approach only drew more attention.

I had a meeting that day with the IU head of English, Doctor Stephen Watt. But that’s how Ada rolls.

The killing blow, was the night before the final. This time, she received a guilt trip from both me and Yen Yung Chu, my Taiwanese roommate and go to science machine… (face it, the boy’s a computer). This time, beautification included, there was no dealing with her. She was tired, she was going to sleep, and damn the consequences.

While Ada slept (not studying), we stayed up all night (studying). I was a little disappointed she was going to do so poorly, but in the end I respected her decision.

Yen beat my score by 6 percentage points.
She beat Yen by 12.

Never underestimate Ada. Just don’t. You’re mocking the gods.

She’s a notorious procrastinator. And she often has this glazed over look behind which you are certain that nothing intelligent or productive can possibly be operating. But you will not only be wrong. You will be personally and publically humiliated.

Remember that the next time you think the situation looks bad.

I say this honestly… You never know what to expect.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Abby Story- Sleeping with Ada

It wasn't the first or last time I had slept with Ada, but it was the most amusing.
Sophomore year of college Ada was in the basement of the "Sin House" and I was on the main floor. Having three Pike-ers downstairs (Ada, Steffie Zuroff, and Rachael Ward), I spent most of my time there. On this mid day, both Ada and I were tired from ballet class- and I was whinny about going upstairs. Obviously the way to fix this was to hop in bed with Ada. Curled up under the covers, side by side, we fell asleep. I woke up sometime later, with my arm around Ada, and to a story.

Apparently during our nap, I decided to turn Ada into either
a) My stuffed animal or
b) My boyfriend substitute.

She had gone to turn herself when a force pushed her down onto the bed. That would be my arm. Ada couldn't move, shrugging, she accepted her fate- and went back to sleep.

First times...

(Posted by John Olson)

Actually, the "first" time Ada and I had a heart-to-heart she was crying about jazz hands, and i cured her with a foot long Philly-cheese sandwich... which she ate from beginning to end at record speed. Just in case you didn't know Ada... (which wouldn't explain why you’re reading this blog in the first place)... girl could Eat.

But the evening i like to imagine as the first time, was at a birthday party. I don't remember anything about the party, except the enchanting conversation i shared with the beautiful, young, and (so i thought) well mannered namesake of this website. Unknown to me, she had been suffering recently from what i will call, a "ninja-cold." "Cold," as in... well, a cold... and "Ninja," in that it had a tendency to remain undetected until the choicest opportunity to spring on you from behind. She towered above me, so it went, me on an ottoman, she on a bar stool. I was enjoying her pleasant comments, she was enjoying an orange soda... And then it happened.

I know that all sneezes, by definition, are explosive... but this was a special sneeze. There was no "Ah." There was only "CHOO." Followed by a forceful geyser of fizzy orange vengeance.

Physicists, be warned... Once there was the magic bullet. This was the magic Soda. My face, neck, and shirt (to be expected) were coated. But also: Inside my left ear, inside my right ear, and (ready for this?) the back of my head.

I was Orange, she was red. She thought she'd ruined her chances with me forever.

Lucky for her i like oranges.