Today I'm writing for Five Minute Friday. I haven't done this in awhile, and I definitely wrote longer than 5 minutes :) Writing feels good.
You can write along and follow Kate's prompts and her blog by clicking below:
Today's prompt: Dare.
Living with OCD, dares were not my thing. At all. They still aren't. My whole life I have had to push myself to take risks. As I've gotten older, it's gotten much easier to shove myself in the direction of adventure; however, as I kid, I wanted nothing to do with it. Rules soothed me. They were predictable. If you followed them, they would always lead to a tried and true outcome: no one would get in trouble, no one would get hurt, and no one would die.
Of course that last part has a little OCD-flair added in. To me, not following the rules could also, unequivocally, end up in illness or death. A huge leap, I know. OCD does not understand the relative distance between Deviation A (getting in trouble) and Deviation B (dying from not following the rules). In my little kid, OCD brain, contracting gangrene, having all my limbs amputated because they rotted, and then dying from a horrible infection caused by the gangrene was not a far jump from getting in trouble by my mother for yelling at my little sister--all because I didn't follow the rules.
This adherence to the rules always hurt in me in my ability to play Truth or Dare with my friends. I was never the cool one who took on the dare. I was the one who stared, eyes at the floor, hoping no one would choose me to decide whether I wanted to break the rules. I never wanted to break the rules.
At one such sleepover in 5th grade, my friends decided that everyone at the party had to complete a dare. No if's, and's, or but's, everyone. Being the rule follower that I was, I didn't want to go against the birthday girl's request.
All of my friends knew I never chose a dare in the game of Truth of Dare, so I, of course, became their obvious first target. The birthday girl decided to come up with some disgusting concoction of food smashed together in her hand: cottage cheese, cream cheese, Parmesan cheese, hot sauce, and some kind of lunch meat. Giggling the entire time, she told me that she dared me to eat five bites of the disgusting mess and then smear some on my friend's face (who fell asleep earlier in the night).
The queasiness began to rise into my throat, not just because the mess she dared me to eat stunk to the high heavens, but for three reasons:
1) In my house, I would never waste so much food. My mom had three little girls to feed.
2) I was taught to treat others the way you wanted to be treated and did not want to wipe any of that slop on my friend's face.
3) Who knew what kind of disease you could get by mixing so much cheese together!
I knew as soon as I saw her working in the kitchen that I was not going to go through with my dare. My friends were laughing and giggling, egging me on, chanting "do it!" over and over. I was mortified. The sting of tears formed in my eyes. Not knowing what else to do, I blurted out as loudly as I could, "I'm allergic to cheese!"
The room went silent. I knew my friends had seen me eat slices of pizza, a slice of cheese on my sandwich at lunch, my favorite food was French onion soup, for God's sake. No one moved. The birthday girl broke the silence, "Are you really?"
"Yeah," my meek voice barely audible.
"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" she asked.
From that moment on, I learned my lesson: before a game of Truth or Dare, tell your friends that you're allergic to cheese and never feel bad turning down a dare.
Love and happiness <3 Holly