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There’s nothing like a roadtrip across the heartland of America to really throw myself out there.Think Lewis and Clark-meets-Thelma and Louise. Minus those pesky mosquitoes, grizzly bears, police chases, and a gratuitous sex scene with Brad Pitt.And making like a lemming to end it all.Over the weekend, a friend and I hit the road for a 12-hour tour that took us across Colorado, Nebraska and Iowa.For the love of cornfields, that’s some seriously flat land. Luckily I love corn in all its forms on-the-cob, dogs, rows of K-Fed’s locks, flakes so I embraced the landscape and all it stands for in this great country.Our final destination was a small university in Iowa to attend Kendra’s brother’s Senior Weekend soccer game. Our agenda included eating free at the campus cafeteria, crashing a college party, and seeing how long I could dodge the topic of my age.Somehow everyone figured out I was not 21.I can’t imagine why.Honestly, going back to college made me a little nervous. There was all that pressure of not fitting in. Plus, I was pretty sure I would make a fool out of myself some how, some way.Leave it up to April to make a lasting impression.I was well on my way to a flawless performance until Saturday night. We had eaten at the servery without incident aka falling down as I walked to the table with my tray.I’m as nervous as Jessica Simpson on her wedding night when I have to walk with one of those things.Lots of people were staring at us when we first walked in the dining room, though. That probably had something to do with the full make-up and styled hair, heeled boots, and cleavage-enhancing sweaters as opposed to hoodie sweatshirts, ponytails, and flip flops.I don’t recommend dressing up for dinner at the servery. And skip the cheeseburger chowder.That stuff does not leave much for the imagination.After dinner, a small salt-and-pepper-throwing fight broke out at the table, though I did not take part, in case there was any question. One guy ended up with salt in his eye (whose last name happened to also be Clark), which didn’t go over so well.Luckily a very funny dude named Phil, who not only looks just like Chris Farley but cracks as many jokes as he did, was on hand for a little added flavor.”See, that’s why we don’t have anything nice,” he said. “Like eyeballs.”You better believe he was dressed as Matt Foley later that night.In the beginning, the Halloween party was really working out well for me. Apparently school girls really fit in in Iowa. So much so, three coeds from Japan dressed as kitty cats repeatedly took our photos.We’re thinking we might be big in Asia soon. Look for a billboard near you.Things were going marvelously until the inevitable happened. To the delight of many people at the party including Kendra, who was coming down the stairs right behind me I fell.And it wasn’t just a little stumble and an “Oops I did it again” kind of trip.Wearing heeled Mary Janes, which aren’t so college-party-house-stairs-friendly, I took a tumble and slid down to the concrete landing. Not only did the people at the top of the stairs see me fall, but also party-goers in the basement.Better yet, they heard me, too.The fall sounded like someone threw a big canvas sack of potatoes down a laundry shoot.”I am so embarrassed for you right now,” Kendra said.I looked for a hole to crawl in, but it was too dark to find my way.”Are you all right?” asked Kendra’s brother Taylor, rushing over to me and looking concerned.I’ll probably never be all right.So there I was, laid out on the basement floor, wearing a plaid skirt and knee socks. That makes for a real nice visual when falling down the stairs. It’s even better when getting peeled from the ground.It seems making a fool of myself never gets old no matter how old I get. April E. Clark might just pass on heels as part of her Halloween costume tonight. She can be reached at 945-8515, ext. 16601 and email@example.com.
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That sideline parent is me, parading to the field with a foldable chair, carrying an iced-coffee, armed with a bag of band-aids and a salty vocabulary ready to slay the referee or opponent that meddles…