Memoirs of a Fat Girl

This moment was brought to you by my very good friend, reckless inspiration.

One of the stories I tell most often is of the time I was trying to cross the Czech/German border at midnight.

I was living in Prague and going to see my cousin in Frankfurt, Germany. The bus ride was an eight hour night trip with a security check at the border. When that time came, Mr. Bus Driver collected all our passports in a little box then handed them to the armed guards waiting outside. Five, six, seven minutes went by, and then the armed guards came back to collect one passenger and lead her away. Me.

Moms had come to Prague with me for the first couple of weeks to help me get settled in. We needed visas to get into the Czech Republic, nice big green bumper stickers glued into our passports, and along with those came a stack of Border Crossing forms. In short, you couldn’t use one without the other.

When moms went home, she took her visa and forms with her. She also took my forms with her, a fact I was painfully made aware of about three hours before boarding the bus. I called Oli in a panic, and she ran to the embassy at home to get me some new ones, but ruefully told me I’d have to wing it getting into Germany.

Ha. If she’d only seen me then, being led into a government building in the middle of nowhere by two very stern, very armed men, at the pumpkin hour no less. Now, try explaining in crappy, broken Czech to these trigger happy blockheads, fondling their AK-47’s, that your mommy misplaced your very important papers, and you’re illegally trying to get into another country.

It’s not easy. I remember saying prosim (please) and vizum (visa) a lot, until they eventually decided I was harmless enough to be let through. The incident had shaken me up so much that, once back on the bus, I immediately peeled open and ate a Babybel cheese.

It had also pissed me off enough to stick the red wax makeshift clown nose on and wave, “nya!” to the armed guard watching the bus pull away.

It’s a great story to tell, but at the time it was a nightmare. It came to mind today when I checked out my Starbucks cup:

The Way I See It #149

An adventure is never an adventure when it’s happening.
-- Tim Cahill, Outdoor Travel Writer

A lot of things in life aren’t adventures at the time. New relationships, new jobs, buying that first home, or becoming a parent. Starting high school, driving, blind dates, or jumping in a swimming pool for the very first time. Remember that? We were all scared, but that adult waiting in the pool reassured us that everything would be fine.

Boy, that first jump was hard. I remember holding my nose, closing my eyes and the nerves in my stomach tightening as my feet left the safe haven of poolside. I landed right in my dad’s arms, and the joy washed over me. Then, I climbed back out and did it again. I kept jumping into that pool all day long, because it was so much fun.

It’s easy for us to forget that life’s little adventures happen every day, often disguised as messes. So maybe this muddle of mine, these issues of body + career + love + décor + blogging about it all aren’t such bad things after all, but more like the motions I have to go through before becoming a better person for it.

Besides, as hard as losing a few pounds can be, it’s at least easier than having a couple of AK-47’s pointed at you.

But definitely not as fun as wearing the Babybel clown nose.