The stories we tell. Over and over. We've all got a stash of stories - either true accounts of incidents or slightly exaggerated versions.
At a recent dinner party, a family friend started talking about her dad and the conversation steered to hunting. This lady's dad and his friend were out hunting eons ago, in an open-top jeep. A tiger happens to jump onto the jeep and starts biting the driver's arm. Poor fellow's screaming his head off. The dad finally gets a clear shot, but the tiger dislocates his nose with one whack from his tail. For the next three days, the dad and his friend in the back seat are incapacitated by a high fever from the shock and fright of the attack.
I quietly reminded myself to not relate the story of how I lost my snowboard on a slope. Trudging up a snow-covered hill at dusk does not compare to being whacked by a tiger's tail.
