My freshman year of college was a learning experience. One important lesson I learned begins as so: One night, as many people who could fit in an aged Ford Taurus (including myself) went to Wal-Mart and went to McDonalds for dinner. It was a holy, holy day because we only got off campus when someone who had a car would be sweet enough to put some of us in it.
Naturally, at McDonalds, I felt it completely necessary – and furthermore, important – to wear one of the child-sized bibs. I wore it the whole way back to campus in the Ford Taurus. Our parking lot was at the football stadium, because so was our dorm. This meant we had to cross a major intersection to get back to our dorms. No Big Deal, we surmised, after all, we can run.
So when it was safe, we ran across six or so lanes of traffic, screaming. My bib flipped into my mouth as I ran and screamed. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Despite my panic, I reached the other side of the road. When I stopped, of course the bib came out of my mouth and I took jagged gasps of air. My eyes were teary and I tried to tell my friends that the fucking bib was in my mouth. My friends looked at me in a combination of shock and pity. I ripped off the bib and threw it.
Later that evening we were recounting the incident I just described. One of my friends said, consolingly, “Oh, you’re like our Retarded Sister and we love you!”
And so, from that day forward I was known as Tard Sis. During my college years, this is what I was most often referred to. Some people only knew me as Tard Sis. Things around me ended up with a “Tard” prefix. Examples would be “Tard Slums” (crappy duplex I lived in one year), “Tard Mobile” (mode of transport), “Tard Majhal” (nice apartment I lived in for two years).
In fact, to this day I am referred to as “Tard Sis”. I can’t shake you. I thought that once I graduated it would be over. Luckily now, most people use “Sis” which is alright, although I do have a few friends who will greet me as Tard Sis. Most of the time, I’m ok with you, because I think nicknames are a term of endearment. But there are times where I wish I wasn’t Tard Sis.
Either way, I guess your mine, huh?