Clown Down

Quick follow up.  My car smells like a stripper.  However, my hair is all better and the jacket is saved.  The shirt…I will bury it.  RIP silk blouse.  I loved you.

This story from my past has come up three times in one week.  Who am I to keep this story from y’all when fate CLEARLY wants me to share?

Confession time: I’m terrified of clowns.  Like….go into a panic, start shaking and act like I’m five years old terrified.  Why, you ask? Well, it’s simple really.

EVERY time I was at the circus with my family, the one child plucked from the audience to play with the clowns? Your girl here.  Every. Freaking. Time.

I can still smell the clown makeup, feel the fake hair tickle my skin… it makes me cringe.  And because my mom always taught me that when in public, you behave with decorum and grace? My sweet little girl self summoned all her courage to hold in the tears.  Shake? Yes, I would shake, but I’d fake a smile brighter than any big city lights.

They would stuff me in their car, squirt me with water guns, and pass me around like I was a sack of potatoes.  Funny?  Funny my ASS. Every time they would finish, I would run back to mom half hyperventilating.  She always thought I was over-reacting, or scared to be in front of so many people.  Really??? If you read this blog, you know I love a stage! I was scared of the clowns, not the people.

When I grew old enough to pitch tantrums and care less if I was punished, I stopped having to go to the circus.  I thought that it was all behind me….until…

I went to a famous haunted house.  It was one of those where you can only go through two at a time and had to sign a waiver about heart conditions. Yes.  It had some jumpy moments, but I had yet to cry from fear as the ads all promised.

We went in to the last room.  At this point, my friend jumped in front of me and protects me like she’s shielding me from gunfire.  I peep around.  I see it.  A jack in the box.  A big one.  I hear the creepy music.  We both knew it was coming and I couldn’t run away fast enough.

The creepy clown pops out and I enter total fear mode.

Clown: grabs my right wrist Oh come with me pretty!

Me: turn away You LET GO.  You aren’t supposed to touch me!!!

Clown: Rules are made to be broken. Hahaha... sick, twisted laugh…still holding my wrist and tugging at me

Me: LET. GO. NOW.

Clown: Hahahaha

Me: I’m warning you…..

Clown: Hahahahaha….Are you scared????

At this point, I haul off and punch the hell out of the clown with a left hook.

Clown goes DOWN. 

I caught him right on that spot in your jaw…the one that totally knocks you out. It was the first and only time I have ever punched anything that wasn’t in a gym-sanctioned kickboxing class.  I broke every nail on my hand and was bleeding, but I didn’t care. Clown was down.  I was safe.

My friend fled to fend off security, who was coming to get me for punching the clown.  I put my hands up – you are supposed to do that right?  Tears, streaming down my cheeks.  All I can get out is: He. Wouldn’t. Let. Go. I. Told. Him….

Security throws me over his shoulder like a caveman.  Was that really necessary??? And carries me, friend in tow, out of the building.

Security: He had it coming ma’am.  I wouldn’t worry….but, we do have to remove you from premises and tell you not to return.

Me: sobbing Ok.

Friend: Dude. You totally knocked his ass out.

Me: Mmhm. sniff sniff

Friend: Remind me not to cross you…you’ve got a hell of a left hook.

Me: sniff sniff  But I’m right handed.

Friend and Security: Damn…

Moral of the story: I still hate clowns.  And, I’ll knock your ass out if you don’t let go when I ask nicely.

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7 Comments

    • OH Sweet Baby Moses! A clown shrine?!!?! I totally just recoiled in my chair! Bless…. no, I won’t be going over to his house unless he hides ALL, and I mean ALL, the clowns. Quick funny story? I was Clara in the Nutcracker. The practice doll one day that was handed to me? A clown. There is video of me screaming and pitching it far into the recesses of the auditorium. Priceless.

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