I had a lot of babysitters when I was little. Much to their dismay and resulting in their eventual resignation, I couldn't really be entertained when mom and dad were gone.
In other words, I was naughty.
Once a babysitter warmed my sister and I some Cambell's Chicken Noodle Soup for dinner. Refusing to use a spoon, I drank my soup broth with a straw and twisted the noodles around a fork. Of course, I couldn't eat like that while sitting on a chair at the table, so I was spinning around the middle of the table on the lazy susan.
My sister grew annoyed by the horrendous slurping noise I accidentally made every time I sucked the soup through the straw.
I enjoyed annoying my sister only as much as she enjoyed annoying me.
She knew the best ways to annoy me. She repeated -- over and over again in her little sing songy voice -- how mad mom would be when she found out about my terrible table manners. She agreed with everything the babysitter said. She exhibited perfect table manners to amplify how horrifying mine were. Everytime the babysitter turned away, she made the twisty, ugly sister faces we used to annoy the living daylights out of each other.
Eventually she ruined all my fun, so I did what anyone would do.
I threw my fork at her.
The second it left my fingers, I knew I made a Very Poor Choice.
With horrified fascination and a little secret awe at the precision of my aim, I watched that fork tumbling end over end across the table.
It struck her in the fold of her eyelid and stayed there.
So did I.
Her eyes were open as wide as they could be. Then she blinked and the fork fell on the floor.
It cracked me up in the worst way and the babysitter sent me to bed.
It was almost as funny as the time I shoved her off the shelf between the kitchen and living room and thought I might have killed her. She was monstrous good at playing dead.