Not that the 4 of us were hard on furniture or anything (later stories will reveal this statement to be a big, fat lie), but we’ve broken beds on 2 different continents, and in I don’t know how many countries.
I don’t think we broke one during our stay in London, but I know we broke one in Grenoble, France. We broke at least one in Lexington, Mass and one when we stayed in Montreal, Canada. Who knows where else, but this story is about breaking my parent’s bed right here in Salt Lake City.
The 4 of us were a very timid group, passive, quiet, reser … ok, I can’t keep a straight face any longer. We were rambunctious. We traveled a lot together, even if it was just going to our cabin in New Hampshire or visiting our grandparents in New York, so we were quite used to playing together as a group. Which often manifested itself into our breaking into two groups and chasing each other around the house (coalitions changed, we didn’t always pair off in the same groups). This continued well into our teen years, which leads into my story.
We were all in, or close to, our teens. Who knows how long we’d been chasing each other around the house, but at this point we were headed down the hall to my parent’s room. The three boys were in the front, my sister behind us. When we got to my parent’s room, the natural thing to do was a pig-pile on their bed. As the three boys landed on the bed, we heard a big *crack* and the bed dropped to the floor. I know this is physically impossible, but I swear my sister, who was lagging behind us, froze in mid air and, like in the cartoons, reversed through the air, landing on her feet before the bed. To this day she still claims no responsibility in the breaking of the bed, after all she never touched it.
We immediately stopped the chase, all rivalries forgotten, as we worked together to fix the bed and cover our crime. Who knows if we ever got caught, but if we did, I’m sure my parents weren’t all that surprised.