Cinnamon and Hot Chocolate

One winter night in Kansas City, my sister and I decided to make hot chocolate. And the best way to make hot chocolate, of course, is by putting peppermint ice cream in it! We didn't have any though, so we made it the second best way: with a dollop of whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkled on top.

SO ADEQUATE.
(I'm sorry, but after you've tried it with peppermint ice cream, everything else is bland.)

We were dancing around the kitchen, making up songs, performing slapstick comedy, and engaging in other forms of tomfoolery like the dorks that we were (are) while we waited for the water to boil. (Yes, water. I know. We didn't really know better at that time.)

After it finished and we while we waited for it to cool off so we wouldn't melt our tongues off, we did more of the same dorking around.

At one point that night, I came up with The Best Idea Ever.

Me: "Heidi! Stand on that rug and I'll pull it out from underneath you. You won't fall, I promise! (I really thought she wouldn't. I truly believed everything would work out perfectly.)"

Heidi: "Are you sure?"

Me: "Of course I'm sure. Would I ask you to do something that would hurt you? (I would...because, again, in my head, it all works out perfectly.) Trust me!"

Now...I really can't say why she chose to trust me. I'm the prankster. The sibling who always, always, always came up with the most-likely-to-fail ideas. Nothing I tried ended well, ever. I loved trying things, though, and more often than not, Heidi ended up being involved somehow.

Bless her heart.

So there she stood, right in the middle of the rug with the container of cinnamon in her hand (don't ask...I don't know), looking at me with trusting eyes, and waiting for me prove that I knew exactly what I was doing.

I got down on my knees, grabbed the rug firmly in my hands, and gave it one HUGE pull.

She.
Flew.

Really, I only have one image in my head from that grand experiment: Heidi, floating in the air perfectly. It was as if she had been in a lounge chair and randomly the bottom of it fell out, but she stayed in that same position. It was PERFECT. I can't emphasize that enough.

Then she fell.
Hard.
With the cinnamon in her hand.

The container of cinnamon hit the ground the exact moment she did, exploded, and we were both surrounded by a cloud of it. That stuff is strong. And it just goes everywhere. Not fun to clean up, let me tell you!

When my mom came home later, we very casually told her we needed another container of cinnamon.
Oddly enough, she didn't question it. (The reason that's so odd is because it was a brand new container.)
But then, we also didn't tell her what all had happened until a couple years later.

As I've said before when it comes to my stories: she wasn't surprised.