Nearly six years ago, I bet Tits McGee that if he bought an Orange Julius from my hometown shopping mall (Fallbrook Mall in Woodland Hills) during his business trip to LA, I would jump in the C&O Canal.
I never anticipated I could lose the one-way bet. I also never anticipated that once Tits got to LA, his whole project would be cancelled and he would have two days to kill in a rented car. AND I never anticipated that he would make a hilarious video of himself driving around the Valley, asking people on the street if they knew me, and finally finding the very same Orange Julius I used to go to during my 15-minute breaks while working in Sears’s hardware department.
So I probably shouldn’t have made the bet I made with The Princess this week.
She told me she had been sort of irregular with her pill-taking lately, to which I responded, “How hard can it be to remember to take one pill a day?”
“Harder than you think,” she said.
“Right, I’m sure it’s tough.”
“You try it, you couldn’t do it.”
“I bet I could.”
Ah, there it was. The word “bet” leaving my mouth so effortlessly. The masculine need to prove to others that I am perfectly capable of performing any – ANY -- challenge. I “bet” I could bicycle down that steep ramp, I said when I was 8, moments before crashing. I “bet” I could drink more tequila than you, I told a friend at a college party, shortly before taking 13 straight shots (we tied).
In some ways, that confidence – no matter how misguided it might be – has served me well. It’s driven me to achieve so much in my life.
But sometimes, like the bet about the Orange Julius, I fail to see the irrational and often stupid ramifications of my ante.
But taking one measly pill every day for four weeks? Come on, it was cake. The Princess and I established that I would have to take one Vitamin C tablet every day. The stakes are private and unbloggable. I don’t see how I can’t win.
Oh, and the infamous C&O Canal outcome? Let’s just say I had to take three showers that night.