Stories with Rob & Kristen: Holiday Edition
Christmas is upon us and I'd be remiss if I didn't take the time to retell one of my most favorite Rob & Kristen holiday stories.
I like to call it Fist Fighting at Christmas, also known as Kristen's Christmas Miracle.
I'm not entirely sure, but it had to have been between 2002 and 2009 because we didn't have kids. Every single year of my life I've gone to my grandparents' for Christmas Eve so that evening we loaded up our gifts in the truck and headed over to good ol' Funcie for a night of family festivities.
Before I get to the good stuff, it's worth mentioning that my husband is an avid and skilled outdoorsman who loves and appreciates the wondrous glory of nature. He has a deep affinity for noticing and reveling in the beauty around him and being outside brings him peace, comfort, and joy.
Keeping these attributes in mind, I shall draw your attention to the part of the story where we were sitting in a line of traffic stuck at the longest red light in the entire state. I vaguely remember staring out the window at the local University's baseball field, probably thinking about all the junk food I was about to consume at my grandparent's. Turning my head to look out the windshield, I saw the passenger in the car directly in front of us unwrap something, the sunroof window open, and a hand shoot forth from the roof of the car, discarding a ball of scrunched up plastic into the wind. It floated back onto the ground between our vehicles. At the same time, I glanced at Rob to see if he noticed. I heard his window lower and watched him throw his left arm into the air outside as he yelled at the small two-door sedan in front of us, "Hey!"
In that lovely little car with an open sunroof (important detail in a minute) were a guy and girl, who were probably college-aged or a little older. Upon hearing Rob yell, the driver looked in his rear view mirror and turned to glance back at our truck.
Again, Rob yelled. "Hey!" Seeing the driver notice him, he added "Yes, YOU!"
The window of the little car rolled down and a head poked out and peeked back at us, eyebrows raised and shoulders shrugging as he struggled to understand why the guy behind him wanted to talk.
"You gonna pick that up?," Rob wanted to know. Other drivers around us were beginning to crack their windows ever so slightly to eavesdrop on their discussion. "Your girl just threw the plastic from her pack of cigarettes out your sunroof! You gonna get it? It's RIGHT THERE!" Rob was not happy.
Apparently, neither was "the girl." The offender in question. THE LITTER BUG.
This entire time, I was in the passenger seat looking back and forth between our truck and the car, praying these two would see the error of their ways, grab the trash, and have themselves a merry little Christmas, but big fat NOPE to that holiday wish!
Instead, the charming, quiet, not-at-all-interested-in-fighting girl (wait, that was me) STOOD UP in the passenger seat THROUGH the sunroof and began screaming things at my husband I'm still embarrassed to repeat. At this point, cars were done hiding the fact they were listening and windows all around us were 100% rolled down.
Rob was fuming. He was just like the cartoon character with steam coming from his ears. He threw the truck in park, flung open his door, and stepped out of the cab.
It's also worth mentioning that my husband is not a small man and he hates litter. Seeing roads lined with garbage brings him physical pain and much emotional anguish. He's also not shy, nor is he afraid of voicing his opinion. I like to think the other driver and I were kindred spirits, perhaps the calm, cool, collected half of each of our respective relationships.
When Rob stepped out of his truck, the guy turned back around in his seat and started pawing at his girlfriend, trying to pull her down into her seat but she was like a rabid wolverine, screeching and howling. Rob was contributing to the conversation in equal measure and I was hunched down in the cab, mortified and wanting to crawl into a hole and pretend I was anywhere but the intersection of McGalliard and Tillotson on Christmas Eve in Muncie, Indiana.
"PICK UP YOUR TRASH!," Rob yelled once again.
"Yeah?," she screamed, "YEAH? You think you're tough?! You think you can make me?!! You wanna do something about it?!!!" She had straight lost her mind. Any marbles she may have at one time had in her head were rolling around in the passenger seat of the car she was in. She was far past the point of reasoning. "If you're so tough, why doesn't your bi*ch get out of the car and do something about it?!!!!"
This is where things get a little blurry. In all my years, I've never once been in a fist fight. Until that evening, there had been exactly 0 people who wanted to fight me. I had never even been to the Principal's office in school! I think I temporarily lost consciousness at the possibility of getting beat up in public at a red stop light. I came close to sliding involuntarily onto the floor of the truck, unable to gain control over my limbs out of sheer panic. "Get. In. The. Car!!!," I hissed at Rob from my crouched position below the dashboard, barely able to speak. "It's Christmas!"
I started praying, begging the Lord to come quickly, and this is how I know God is real, you guys. This girl, at the peak of anger, was ready to fight me in the middle of the road but she never had the chance because I threw the first punch!
I'm totally kidding.
The light turned green.
THE LIGHT TURNED GREEN!!
My Christmas miracle arrived!
The guy in the car with Loony Linda finally got a solid grip on her legs and pulled her down where she continued to thrash and yell, while saluting us with her middle finger. Traffic started moving forward and he threw on his turn signal and screeched away, leaving us behind as we slowly gained speed and drove through the green light. I was shook, you guys. I don't even remember the drive to my grandparent's. What I can recall was a conversation between Rob and I that sounded something like, "Don't ever, EVER do that again" and "You're fine. Did you really think she was gonna beat you up?" (YES. YES, ABSOLUTELY THAT WAS MY IMPRESSION).
And that's how I almost got beat up at a traffic light on Christmas Eve. And if you think I'm bitter about it, you're wrong. It took ten minutes for me to realize what a classic story I was holding onto and fifteen minutes for me to begin telling it to my family members, adding dramatic flair to what was probably a minor thirty-second traffic exchange.
 |
| Us at Christmas, but not the one from this story |
I like to call it Fist Fighting at Christmas, also known as Kristen's Christmas Miracle.
I'm not entirely sure, but it had to have been between 2002 and 2009 because we didn't have kids. Every single year of my life I've gone to my grandparents' for Christmas Eve so that evening we loaded up our gifts in the truck and headed over to good ol' Funcie for a night of family festivities.
Before I get to the good stuff, it's worth mentioning that my husband is an avid and skilled outdoorsman who loves and appreciates the wondrous glory of nature. He has a deep affinity for noticing and reveling in the beauty around him and being outside brings him peace, comfort, and joy.
Keeping these attributes in mind, I shall draw your attention to the part of the story where we were sitting in a line of traffic stuck at the longest red light in the entire state. I vaguely remember staring out the window at the local University's baseball field, probably thinking about all the junk food I was about to consume at my grandparent's. Turning my head to look out the windshield, I saw the passenger in the car directly in front of us unwrap something, the sunroof window open, and a hand shoot forth from the roof of the car, discarding a ball of scrunched up plastic into the wind. It floated back onto the ground between our vehicles. At the same time, I glanced at Rob to see if he noticed. I heard his window lower and watched him throw his left arm into the air outside as he yelled at the small two-door sedan in front of us, "Hey!"
In that lovely little car with an open sunroof (important detail in a minute) were a guy and girl, who were probably college-aged or a little older. Upon hearing Rob yell, the driver looked in his rear view mirror and turned to glance back at our truck.
Again, Rob yelled. "Hey!" Seeing the driver notice him, he added "Yes, YOU!"
The window of the little car rolled down and a head poked out and peeked back at us, eyebrows raised and shoulders shrugging as he struggled to understand why the guy behind him wanted to talk.
"You gonna pick that up?," Rob wanted to know. Other drivers around us were beginning to crack their windows ever so slightly to eavesdrop on their discussion. "Your girl just threw the plastic from her pack of cigarettes out your sunroof! You gonna get it? It's RIGHT THERE!" Rob was not happy.
Apparently, neither was "the girl." The offender in question. THE LITTER BUG.
This entire time, I was in the passenger seat looking back and forth between our truck and the car, praying these two would see the error of their ways, grab the trash, and have themselves a merry little Christmas, but big fat NOPE to that holiday wish!
Instead, the charming, quiet, not-at-all-interested-in-fighting girl (wait, that was me) STOOD UP in the passenger seat THROUGH the sunroof and began screaming things at my husband I'm still embarrassed to repeat. At this point, cars were done hiding the fact they were listening and windows all around us were 100% rolled down.
Rob was fuming. He was just like the cartoon character with steam coming from his ears. He threw the truck in park, flung open his door, and stepped out of the cab.
It's also worth mentioning that my husband is not a small man and he hates litter. Seeing roads lined with garbage brings him physical pain and much emotional anguish. He's also not shy, nor is he afraid of voicing his opinion. I like to think the other driver and I were kindred spirits, perhaps the calm, cool, collected half of each of our respective relationships.
When Rob stepped out of his truck, the guy turned back around in his seat and started pawing at his girlfriend, trying to pull her down into her seat but she was like a rabid wolverine, screeching and howling. Rob was contributing to the conversation in equal measure and I was hunched down in the cab, mortified and wanting to crawl into a hole and pretend I was anywhere but the intersection of McGalliard and Tillotson on Christmas Eve in Muncie, Indiana.
"PICK UP YOUR TRASH!," Rob yelled once again.
"Yeah?," she screamed, "YEAH? You think you're tough?! You think you can make me?!! You wanna do something about it?!!!" She had straight lost her mind. Any marbles she may have at one time had in her head were rolling around in the passenger seat of the car she was in. She was far past the point of reasoning. "If you're so tough, why doesn't your bi*ch get out of the car and do something about it?!!!!"
This is where things get a little blurry. In all my years, I've never once been in a fist fight. Until that evening, there had been exactly 0 people who wanted to fight me. I had never even been to the Principal's office in school! I think I temporarily lost consciousness at the possibility of getting beat up in public at a red stop light. I came close to sliding involuntarily onto the floor of the truck, unable to gain control over my limbs out of sheer panic. "Get. In. The. Car!!!," I hissed at Rob from my crouched position below the dashboard, barely able to speak. "It's Christmas!"
I started praying, begging the Lord to come quickly, and this is how I know God is real, you guys. This girl, at the peak of anger, was ready to fight me in the middle of the road but she never had the chance because I threw the first punch!
I'm totally kidding.
The light turned green.
THE LIGHT TURNED GREEN!!
My Christmas miracle arrived!
The guy in the car with Loony Linda finally got a solid grip on her legs and pulled her down where she continued to thrash and yell, while saluting us with her middle finger. Traffic started moving forward and he threw on his turn signal and screeched away, leaving us behind as we slowly gained speed and drove through the green light. I was shook, you guys. I don't even remember the drive to my grandparent's. What I can recall was a conversation between Rob and I that sounded something like, "Don't ever, EVER do that again" and "You're fine. Did you really think she was gonna beat you up?" (YES. YES, ABSOLUTELY THAT WAS MY IMPRESSION).
And that's how I almost got beat up at a traffic light on Christmas Eve. And if you think I'm bitter about it, you're wrong. It took ten minutes for me to realize what a classic story I was holding onto and fifteen minutes for me to begin telling it to my family members, adding dramatic flair to what was probably a minor thirty-second traffic exchange.
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