Of Soy milk and Scorpions

Of the many things I might have received for my birthday, neither soy milk nor scorpions came to mind.

But those are exactly what I got.

Don’t worry; they’re plastic scorpions. The scorpions that inspired them, however, were not. They were moving. They were skewered on shish-ka-bob sticks. They were for sale, deep fried, for less than a dollar in an Asian country I mission-tripped to last summer with a church group.

“Pastor,” said I, after thinking it through, “Can I get one?”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Will you eat one, too?”

“Sure.”

My other chaperons, however, had different ideas.

“Uh, wait a minute, Sofia, let’s think this through . . .”

So, I ended up not getting my scorpions. Dreams crushed.

It’s not like I really wanted to eat scorpions (I mean, who would?). What I really wanted was a) the experience, and b) the bragging rights.

Oh well.

The soy milk story is more depressing. After we got back from this mission trip, I somehow volunteered to make 6 gallons of soy milk for a church event. Sure, I’d never done this before in my life, but hey, it couldn’t be that hard, could it?

It really wasn’t. By Saturday night, I had six beautiful gallons of soy milk. As I don’t happen to have an industrial-sized refrigerator in my place of residence, I left them out, figuring that they’d be fine for eight hours.

Wrong.

Sunday morning, I woke up to find six gallons of explosive soy-yogurt. Seriously, as soon as I opened one, it cheerfully expelled its contents like a pale young volcano. It wasn’t pretty. It smelled kinda weird. I opted not to bring it to church.

And thus, my dear friends decided to commemorate these momentous milestones of my life with lasting tributes in their honor. It seems that they took a great deal of trouble in doing this; they actually went to Ebay to find me plastic scorpions!

This might just be my favorite present.

It’s when they do weird things like this that you know your friends love you.

THANK YOU GUYS!! You’re adorable ♥

Love,

Sofia

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