Sunday, November 18, 2012

Sunday Confessional: Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic

I hereby cancel Obsession Confession Sunday as it never quite fit in with the rest of Whitfield Awesome and quite frankly, I'm just not that into it. In it's place: Sunday Confessional. I will tell you a story that ranks somewhere between sorta and truely on the awful scale. And then invite you to do the same.

Today's confession: I still harbor a teenage grudge against Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic. 

When I was a teenager, I belonged to a youth group that spent a good part of each year learning choreography, doing rehearsing lines and getting in tune. Each summer, we traveled the southern United States for a week performing a musical. Mostly in churches but once we performed in Opryland! I'm 73% certain that we had nothing to do with the closing of Opryland.

One such summer, a fellow musicalician musician dork performer (known for attention seeking), decided that she simply MUST have asthma. She would convulse and put on quite the show. Mid-convulsion she would announce that she was having an asthma attack and needed an inhaler. I'm pretty sure she thought asthma and epilepsy were the same thing.

The group would crowd around her, terrified expressions, her closest pals on the verge of tears, and the leaders would demand that I hand over my inhaler. I'm an actual asthmatic, you see. I always have an emergency inhaler on me. I need it at least once a day but most people don't know this because asthma doesn't make you have a freaking seizure. The leaders knew about it because it was on the paperwork my parents filled out each year. I would begrudgingly hand over my inhaler. Once I even pretended not to have it on me and walked to my hotel room and back before handing it over because (a) I wanted to prove that she was a faker and (b) I'm kind of a douche.

These fake asthma attacks would make me so angry. She was stealing my disease thunder and doing a bad job of it. Not to mention I was certain that at some point on the trip, I would need the inhaler and all of my puffs would have been puffed into that lying slut troubled youth. Her asthma was miraculously cured during the same week that she came down with it. Guess it was the ole 96-hour asthmalepsy bug. That was 13+ years ago. I haven't seen this person in about as long. But any time I think back on those days, I think of Fake-o the Faux Asthmatic and still feel anger toward her. Issues. I gots em.

Your turn. Do you need to confess anything? I won't hate if you do so anonymously. I might think you a pansy but I won't know who you are, so who cares.
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1 comment:

  1. What a bitch....I hate that girl so much it hurts!

    I feel like I confess a lot of things hmm...what do I have left? HA! Which confession should I share is the question...