Lauren asks Fiona to retell the story based on how well she knows Lauren from getting ready sitting in the mud.### The Walk Back to the Car: Squishy, Dripping Defeat
Lauren trudged back toward the car in silence, mud dripping off her once-flawless outfit in slow, gloppy slumps. Her white cardigan was now an unrecognizable shade of brown and black, clinging to her like a limp rag. The pristine pleats of her hunter green tennis skirt dripped and flapped awkwardly with every step, mud caked onto the delicate hem. But the real heartbreak—her beloved white canvas Tretorns—were now reduced to muddy blobs that squelched audibly with each agonizing step. The pompoms on her socks, once playful and bouncy, hung like soggy, defeated little stains of green-tinted muck.
Squish. Splat. Squish.
Every step she took seemed to echo louder in her head, each squelching noise a painful reminder of her once pristine outfit and her mortifying fall into the mud. She kept her head down, stringy pieces of mud-splattered hair falling into her face as she walked, her shoulders curled inwards as if to protect herself from further embarrassment. Jake followed a few steps behind, unsure whether offering help would escalate things even more. He wisely opted for silence.
Squish. Splat.
The path back to the car was long. Too long. Every inch felt like a public walk of shame, even if no one else was there to witness her complete undoing in the swamp. With each step, her sneakers became harder to lift from the wet earth, bogged down by layers of sticky mud that refused to let go. She could feel the cold wetness seeping through her socks and shoes—the very same shoes she had once bragged about in the live feed, now utterly destroyed.
When they finally reached the car, Lauren stood for a moment, staring at the door handle while mud dripped steadily onto the gravel below. Jake wordlessly opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into her seat, barely able to stand the slimy feeling of her muddy clothes pressing against the car upholstery. The soft squish as she sat down felt like the last nail in the coffin.
The ensuing car ride was silent. Completely, awkwardly, miserably silent. The only sound that punctuated the quiet was the occasional rustle of wet clothes against her seat and the faint squelching sound her sneakers made when she absentmindedly lifted her feet from the mats below. Neither of them dared to speak. Jake gripped the wheel in stoic concentration, trying to hide the subtle, long exhale of relief that they were no longer in public, while Lauren sat, arms folded tight, staring out the window with a scathing scowl on her face.
Her phone buzzed occasionally—probably notifications from people reacting to the live broadcast—and it took all her willpower not to smash it against the window.
---
### The Call to Her Sister: Recounting the Muddy Disaster
As soon as they made it home, Lauren stormed into the bathroom, peeling off her mud-encrusted clothes with a mix of disgust and regret. After a painfully long shower that did little to wash away her mortification or salvage her Tretorns, she found herself wrapped in a bathrobe in her bedroom, staring at her phone. She hovered over her sister Fiona’s contact information for a minute before finally pressing "call."
Fiona answered on the third ring, her perpetually laid-back tone filtering through the line. "Laur? What’s up? I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you today. Weren’t you doing one of your influencer shoots?"
Lauren sighed heavily, biting her lip as she prepared to unpack her morning. “Don’t even get me started,” she groaned in frustration. “It was supposed to be this perfect spring shoot. I had everything planned out. The outfit, the location, everything.”
Fiona’s knowing chuckle floated back through the phone. “Lemme guess. It didn’t go as flawlessly as planned?”
“Flawless?” Lauren huffed. “Fiona, it was a disaster. I dragged Jake out early this morning to the park—like I had to practically beg him to come. And I had on my white cardigan—you know, the one I showed you last week? The one that gave, like, Peak Preppy Chic—and the green tennis skirt and my Tretorns! With the green pompoms that matched perfectly!”
Fiona snorted lightly. “Oh right, the pompoms. You were very excited about those. Next-level coordination there.”
“I know, right!?” Lauren’s voice was laced with both frustration and deep-seated indignation. “Anyway, everything was fine. We got to the park and I felt really good about the light and the flowers, and then… disaster struck.”
Fiona, already amused, perked up. “Wait… disaster? What happened?”
“Well,” Lauren began dramatically, as though recounting the incident stabbed at her pride, “it started with this stupid log. Jake and I were scouting for places to shoot—"
"A log?" Fiona interrupted, her voice laced with obvious incredulity.
"Yes, a log. It had this wildflower backdrop behind it that fit my outfit perfectly. It was, like, begging to be the star of the shoot,” she said, as though it was obvious. “Anyway, Jake pointed out that it was kind of swampy around it, but I shrugged him off. I mean, honestly, I thought I could manage it if I got on from the dry part. So I made him help me up onto it.”
Fiona tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. “And... you thought stomping around on a log in swamp-adjacent mud was a good idea?"
“I thought it would be charming!" Lauren snapped defensively. “And it was for a few minutes! We were killing it with those shots. I was walking back and forth, all confident, giving my followers a close-up of my Tretorns, showing off the pompoms like—’Look at how polished I look today!’ Then I decided to go live because things were flowing so well."
“Oh no...” Fiona said, starting to laugh now.
“Oh yes,” Lauren groaned. “I was feeling good! I strut up and down the log a couple times, and then—just, right at the end—I thought it would be cute to do a little curtsy, you know? Like, innocent and dainty. Like, oh look at me in my preppy outfit, aren’t I adorable?”
A full snicker escaped her sister on the other end. “So, how’d that go?”
"Terrible. I leaned too far forward, Fiona. I lost my balance—on live feed, mind you—wobbling like a lunatic for a few seconds, and then—BAM! I fell straight off and into the most disgusting, sticky mud pit."
Fiona was openly laughing now. “No... stop, you didn’t.”
“Oh yes, I did.” Lauren sighed dramatically, but now that she was rehashing the event, she reluctantly added, “I could feel the mud everywhere, Fiona. Everywhere. My skirt, my cardigan, and my shoes—OH MY GOD, my beautiful, white Tretorns—completely ruined.”
“They’re just shoes.”
“Oh no, sweet sister, they were not just shoes. These were statement shoes." She paused, briefly caught between anger and self-pity. "And my pompoms—completely submerged. Do you know what it’s like to see pompoms that cute destroyed?!”
Fiona chuckled again. “You and those pompoms.”
Lauren groaned loudly, the frustration leaking through every word. “And Jake just stood there with the live stream still going like an absolute idiot while thousands of people watched me flail around in the mud like a freakin’ baby deer on ice!"
Between intermittent snickers, Fiona managed, "Watching your karma catch up to you in real-time, huh?"
Lauren rolled her eyes. “It's not funny, Fi. This is my brand we’re talking about. I went from 'Pretty Preppy Spring Queen' to 'Mud Monster' in seconds."
“That’s just... it’s too good,” Fiona laughed softly.
"I called it a ‘muddy graveyard’ for my career,” Lauren muttered as she rubbed her temples.
"Oh, come on, Laur. All things considered… sounds pretty hilarious."
Lauren sank deeper into her chair, her face in her hands. “Why is it always you people that find my absolute disasters hilarious?”
"Because you take it so seriously!" Fiona quipped with a light tone. "It’s mud, Lau. You’ll be fine. Even your little Tretorns can be replaced."
Lauren sighed in resignation. “Yeah… easier said than done. But I guess what else could I expect from someone who doesn’t understand the frustration of perfect pompoms being ruined.”
Fiona chuckled again, soft but warm. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Just not in your... extremely dramatic way.”
Lauren smiled half-heartedly into the phone. "Thanks, Fi."
"Anytime, ‘Mud Monster.’ Anytime."
Go Live
- Thread starter RonR
- Start date
Lauren asks Fiona to retell the story based on how well she knows Lauren from getting ready sitting in the mud.
FeedBot
Staff member
### Fiona’s Retelling of the Muddy Disaster: The Sister Version
Lauren sighed, rubbing her temples as if that would erase the memory. “Okay, Fi,” she said, her voice drained but somehow still laced with impatience, “you know me. You know how this day went. I just... I need to hear it. From you. Retell it. From beginning to end. You're always so... blunt.”
Fiona was already chuckling on the other end of the line. Lauren imagined her sister, feet up, phone propped on her shoulder, probably grinning like a Cheshire cat as she prepared to launch into one of her classic sarcastic narratives.
“Alright, alright,” Fiona started, clearly savoring the moment. “Let me see if I can do this justice. From the top, yeah?”
Lauren groaned, already regretting the decision. “You’re going to roast me, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Fiona replied without missing a beat. “But you asked for it. Here we go…”
---
“So, it starts,” Fiona said, using a dramatic, playful tone like she was narrating a Shakespearean tragedy, “with you waking up at some ungodly hour because you can’t just take a normal, relaxed photo—oh no—you have to be out there first thing in the morning, right when the light is the ‘perfect, ethereal glow,’ or whatever Pinterest nonsense you call it.”
Lauren sighed into the phone. “It’s called the golden hour—”
“I know what it’s called, Lauren," Fiona interrupted. "I’ve lived with you during these ‘golden hours’ of yours, remember? So you’re bouncing around your room like the next Insta-celeb, probably testing three different hairstyles in the mirror, tweaking every outfit detail to preppy near-perfection. Like, your cardigan?”
“Right, the white one I told you about. It was so cute—”
“Uh-huh, yes, dear princess,” Fiona replied dryly. “So we’ve got the white cardigan—ironed to perfection, probably—oh, and the green tennis skirt? Classic, by the way. Very ‘Lauren thinks she’s off to meet a prince at a garden tennis court.’ You’re all smiles, right? Looking in your mirror, texting Jake to remind him not to be late, smiling into a pretend camera—”
“I don’t smile into a pretend camera,” Lauren interjected, doing her best to save some face.
“Sure,” Fiona continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who needs an actual camera when you’re mentally prepping your expressions, right?"
Lauren laughed in spite of herself, rolling her eyes. “Jake was late, though.”
“Ha! Knew it," Fiona said with a satisfied hum. "He drags himself out of bed, meanwhile you’re all but hopping into his car, practically vibrating with excitement, and probably giving him a two-minute crash course on the ‘vision’ for the day with your ‘totally chill’—but actually completely precise—Blue-Print-To-World-Domination.”
Lauren groaned at how accurately that portrayed her. “I was...” She paused, unable to find an excuse. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little intense.”
Fiona gave a teasing snort. “Uh, yeah. You probably went on and on about ‘the aura’ the park was going to have that morning—something that’d match your Tretorns’ green stripe because, of course, every color needs to pop for the camera. And speaking of, let’s not forget you spent a good three minutes making sure the pompoms on your socks were perfectly fluffed, didn’t you?”
Lauren couldn’t defend that. The pom details were sacred in her world.
“Anyway,” Fiona continued with a dramatic sigh. “You get to the park, probably assembling your followers in your head like you’re about to walk onto a runway. ‘This is the spot where the shoot will blow everyone away,’ you’re saying without saying. Poor Jake’s following you around like a whipped dog at this point, lugging around the camera, trying to get the best angles.”
Lauren felt a twinge of guilt but also couldn’t argue. Fiona wasn’t wrong.
“And then,” Fiona continued, her voice picking up with obvious interest, “oh sweet Laur, you see some gigantic log. I imagine your face going full ‘I’ve got a brilliant idea, Jake!’ as you assume the log is going to be your best friend for selfies and poses. Naturally, you’ve scoped out the flowers behind it, because God forbid a background doesn’t perfectly complement your outfit.”
“It was a good backdrop!” Lauren defended, but Fiona powered through, barely able to suppress her laughter.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But here’s where it gets extra good,” Fiona said, now clearly relishing the retelling. “Jake is probably standing there, visibly trying to warn you—being like, ‘Hey, maybe not because there’s actual mud here.’ He even tries to be the voice of reason about the swampy mess around the log.”
Lauren flinched slightly. “Well, yeah, but he didn’t stop—"
“But of course,” Fiona interjected, dramatically raising her voice to mimic Lauren, "'I’m fine, Jake! It’ll look amazing!' You're waving him off like, ‘don’t worry about it, I know what I’m doing.’”
Lauren cringed remembering how confident she had been.
“So then, poor Jake’s practically carrying you up onto the log,” Fiona continued, “as you perch yourself up there like you’re about to pose in a Vogue editorial. And I can just imagine you being all glowy with excitement, strutting back and forth along this balancing beam like, ‘Look at ME! I’m a preppy forest queen!’ doing your little turns, making sure your pompoms bounce on cue. I mean, I bet you even did that thing where you show off your shoes with a playful little ‘watch me twirl my foot’ move."
Lauren blushed. She had done exactly that.
“You’re flying high, aren’t you?” Fiona cackled. “‘Oh, Jake, let’s take it live! The people need to see me right now.’ I can already picture it… the world watching you teetering on a log like some woodland ballerina.”
Lauren’s voice was soft now. “They... were super into it.”
“Until,” Fiona broke in with dramatic pause, “you try to seal the deal with a little curtsy, because of course you’d think that’d be the cherry on top of your dream-girl aesthetic."
“Fiona…”
“Lauren… let’s be real. You went for the curtsy. On a log. In front of everyone.”
Lauren groaned loudly. “Okay, okay. Fine. I overdid it.”
“Oh boy, did you overdo it." Fiona’s laughter was barely contained. "So there you are, teetering on that log like some cartoon character—arms out to save yourself, but oh no—gravity isn’t having it. And then, just like in the movies, BAM. Into the... what was it? Mud pit? Oh right. Mud swamp. The whole time the live feed is still running, your followers watching you dive headfirst into the muck in slow motion.”
“Fiona…” Lauren cringed, unable to stop her sister’s relentless impersonation of the event.
“And let’s not forget the best part,” Fiona added with a snide chuckle. “You’re just sitting there, covered in mud, your pristine Tretorns—the ones you showed off moments before—drenched in mud. And your poor pompoms, the victims of this tragic tale, reduced to sad, wet blobs.”
“They were completely ruined…” Lauren lamented dramatically, almost in tears at that part of the story.
“Oh, I’m sure they were tragic,” Fiona teased. “But then, your face… oh, I can just picture it. That sweet ‘influencer glow’? Gone, replaced with pure, unfiltered rage. The kind of rage only a preppy girl who just fell into a mud pit—and more importantly, did it LIVE—can feel.”
"Fi, it was mortifying. The comments... the screenshots...”
“Oh, I bet there are memes of it already,” Fiona snorted.
Lauren shook her head in disbelief. "Thanks for that, by the way..."
“And poor Jake!” Fiona added. “Standing there helpless while you screeched at him because he didn’t stop the feed fast enough. Like that detail was going to reverse time and save your precious white cardigan.”
Lauren let out a long, frustrated groan, throwing herself face down into her pillow as Fiona’s laughter exploded through the phone.
“Oh, Laur,” Fiona finally managed between snickers. “You can’t expect me to keep a straight face when your days go like this.”
“It was a nightmare, Fi…”
“Nah,” Fiona said, warm and reassuring now. “It was a hilarious nightmare. The kind we both know you’ll get over... and, let’s be honest, it’s a little funny, right?"
Lauren hesitated, a small smile creeping up despite herself. “Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.”
“A lot funny,” Fiona corrected, snickering one final time.
“Fine, a lot funny.” Lauren sighed, feeling a weight lift.
“Better call it ‘Preppy Falls: The Swamp Chronicles,’” Fiona teased.
“Goodbye, Fiona,” Lauren said, laughing as she ended the call, blushing well into the evening as her sister’s retelling echoed in her mind.
Be honest Fiona, would you have laughed at me? Why? You know, I wasn't dressed for getting dirty.
FeedBot
Staff member
### Be Honest, Fiona
Lauren fell back against her pillow after recounting the disastrous chain of events to her sister. She could almost hear Fiona smiling through the phone as she mentally prepared herself for what she knew might be a brutal, but needed, dose of reality.
“Fiona,” she began, the tone in her voice shifting to something more serious and... vulnerable. Lauren was rarely vulnerable with Fiona, but she needed the truth. “Be honest… would you have laughed at me? Like, if you had been there… would you have laughed?"
Fiona, sensing Lauren wasn’t just asking for fun this time, waited for a beat before responding. When she finally did, her voice came softer than Lauren expected. “Yes, Laur. I would have laughed.”
Lauren groaned. “Come on, Fi… even you? You know, I wasn’t dressed for getting dirty. I was in my best outfit! You know I wasn’t prepared for this kind of thing.”
Fiona chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t the mean-spirited “I told you so” laugh Lauren might have braced herself for. “That’s exactly why it would’ve been funny, Laur. You’re always so put together, so careful with every detail—especially when it comes to your outfits and your shoots. You went from, like, ‘Pinterest-Primed Preppy Princess’ to full-on ‘Swamp Creature’ in two seconds flat.” Fiona paused, letting the humor hang in the air for a moment. “That transformation? That’s comedy. It’s like… watching the universe remind you, ‘Hey, life’s messy sometimes.’”
Lauren let out a slow, reluctant sigh. “Fiii…”
Fiona continued, more gently now. “No, seriously though. Listen. I love you and I obviously wouldn’t have laughed at you falling or hurting yourself. But the situation? Come on, Laur. You have to see it. You’re out there in this super polished, perfectly curated outfit—totally not meant for logs, mud, or the swamp—that’s asking to be ruined. You’re balancing on a log trying to do a cute curtsy for a live stream? It’s like something straight out of a sitcom.”
Lauren rubbed her forehead, caught somewhere between frustration and understanding. “It didn’t feel funny at the time.”
“I know,” Fiona agreed softly, “It never does when it’s happening. But that’s why it’s funny, Laur. You take things so seriously sometimes—especially when it comes to your aesthetic. And look, it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something hilarious about the universe taking this perfectly styled version of you and just… throwing you into the mud. Literally."
Lauren managed a tired chuckle this time. "I guess there is a certain irony to it."
"Exactly!" Fiona sounded satisfied now, like her humor had finally started to penetrate Lauren's frustration. "It’s the cosmic balancing act. You're so obsessed with being picture-perfect that life, in all its messy glory, just swoops in to remind you that nothing’s truly perfect.” She let out a little laugh. “Except maybe your ability to fall spectacularly.”
Lauren giggled despite herself, recalling the embarrassing wobbling of her fall. “Spectacular? I was flailing.”
“Oh, trust me, it was definitely spectacular. I can just imagine the whole ‘woah, woah, woah!’ moment.”
Lauren laughed fully this time, the image of herself teetering like a cartoon replaying in her mind. “Shut up!”
Fiona chuckled along, but then her tone softened. “Look, in all seriousness, Laur… no one’s laughing at you because we think you getting muddy is some deep, cosmic failure. We’re laughing because… it’s you. The girl who’s always so perfect and put-together suddenly finding herself covered head to toe in mud? It’s endearing, in a way. Like, you’re human after all.”
Lauren was quiet for a moment, absorbing what Fiona was saying. “Yeah, I guess... maybe that’s why it was so frustrating. I don’t like being the messy thing. That’s not me.”
“I know,” Fiona said warmly, “But you know what? Sometimes messy stuff happens—and it’s okay. Heck, it’s more than okay sometimes. Your followers will probably love seeing a real, human moment. Who knows? They might even like this spontaneous, un-Pinterest-like version of you more than the perfectly manicured one.”
Lauren sighed, but this time, there was less tension. “I guess… maybe."
Fiona perked up. “Exactly! You fell in the mud. You got dirty. It was embarrassing. But you’re fine! Your career isn’t over, your followers aren’t going anywhere—and maybe next time you’ll remember not to attempt gymnastics on a log over a muddy swamp during a live stream.”
Lauren snorted. “Yeah, lesson learned.”
“And, hey,” Fiona added with another chuckle, “if Instagram modeling doesn’t pan out, you always have a future in slapstick comedy.”
“Oh my God, Fiona!” Lauren laughed, rolling her eyes.
Fiona couldn’t help poking fun again. “But real talk: next time, maybe the preppy princess should wear shoes more suited for reality, not an imaginary tea party on a freaking log.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lauren laughed, feeling lighter. “Thanks, Fi. I needed that, I guess.”
“You’re welcome. And hey, Laur?”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s video of this anywhere… you’re sending it to me, right?”
Lauren groaned. “No!”
Fiona cackled, loud and infectious. “You’ll cave eventually!” she teased, and with that, Lauren found herself smiling a little more than before, the cosmic lesson sinking in—along with the mud.
I understand but what did you mean by the whole woah woah woah moment? What do you think that moment or few moments looked like that made it funny?
FeedBot
Staff member
### What Made the ‘Woah, Woah, Woah’ Moment Hilarious
Lauren hadn’t expected to keep prodding Fiona, but she was genuinely curious now. What was it about that split second during her fall that had her sister—and, frankly, probably everyone else—laughing? She could practically hear Fiona losing it just thinking about it.
“What do you mean by that ‘woah, woah, woah’ moment?” Lauren asked again, a little sheepish. “Like, I know I fell, but from your perspective… what did I look like that made it so funny?"
“Oh, Laur… where do I even start?” Fiona replied through barely contained laughter, as if the memory of the whole scenario was playing out in her mind all over again. “It’s not just the fall itself, it’s everything leading up to the fall that makes it so classic.”
Lauren sighed, clutching a pillow to her chest, bracing herself. “Okay, fine. Lay it on me.”
“Alright,” Fiona began, catching her breath and getting into storytelling mode. “So, imagine this: there you are, all decked out in your perfect white cardigan and tennis skirt, like your outfit is its own delicate piece of art, and you step up on that log. In your head, you're a graceful ballerina, probably imagining how picture-perfect everything looks, right?”
“I mean… yeah. It felt like it was working,” Lauren admitted with hesitation.
“But then—you go to do this cute little curtsy, all poised, like you’re starring in a Jane Austen movie or something. And that is when it starts to go wrong.”
Fiona’s voice got more animated now, clearly enjoying reliving what came next.
“You probably feel yourself wobble—just slightly at first. And instead of stopping or leveling out, you keep curtsying like, ‘Oh no, we’re sticking this landing, this is happening.’ But then… the wobble gets worse.”
Lauren bit her lip, remembering with uncomfortable clarity that exact second when she felt her balance betray her.
“Then boom! One foot shifts a little too far to the right, and suddenly you’re doing a full-on arms-out balancing act, like one of those inflatable tube men flapping around outside of car dealerships. Your arms are flailing, your legs are everywhere, and I imagine you’re having this internal panic moment like: ‘No, no, no, this can’t be happening, I’m elegant, I’m grace, I’M GOING DOWN!’”
Fiona was nearly in hysterics re-enacting it, her voice high-pitched and exaggerated. She could picture it vividly now: Lauren teetering, arms windmilling, desperately trying to right herself while gravity worked against her dignity.
“And, Laur, the best part,” Fiona continued, barely catching her breath through her laughter, “is the part where you probably realize... you’re not winning this battle.” Her voice softens in faux sympathy. “‘Oh... well... goodbye, my dignity.’” Fiona imitated Lauren with a theatrical gasp, hands dramatically thrown out in front of her.
Lauren couldn’t help but burst into laughter at this point, the ridiculousness catching up with her. “Oh my God, stop, Fi! I was trying to save it!”
“Oh no, trust me, we all could see how hard you were trying, but that’s what made it even funnier! It’s the desperation of that last-second shuffle to regain control. You’re wobbling back and forth on this log, arms doing everything possible to counterbalance your torso, while trying to ‘keep it cute.’ But, oh no, Lauren... it’s too late. The log has betrayed you."
Lauren held her face in her hands, shaking with laughter now. “I can’t believe you!”
Fiona kept firing away, relishing the opportunity to break down the moment into hilarious detail. “So, the ‘woah, woah, woah moment’ I’m talking about is basically those few heroic seconds of you trying to defy gravity. It’s the sheer panic, those big-grab-for-the-air motions that everyone makes when they know they’re about to fall but refuse to accept it yet. Just imagine it.”
Lauren wiggled her arms like a baby bird learning to fly, still laughing. “Like this?”
“Exactly!” Fiona nearly shrieked with joy. “Like you’re doing choreography for some slapstick routine! And everyone watching is sitting there like, ‘Ohhh, ohhh, here it comes!’ Just waiting for the inevitable collapse.”
“Ughhh, I know, I felt it, Fi, the worst part was knowing it was all happening in slow motion!”
“Yesss!” Fiona agreed, laughing so hard now that tears were likely forming. “Exactly. That’s part of what makes it so funny—the sheer amount of time you probably spent trying not to fall but knowing deep down there’s just no way to escape it. The longer someone hangs on to almost falling, the funnier it gets.”
Lauren wiped her face, still grinning. “And then when I hit the mud…”
“Oh, the mud.” Fiona let out a long sigh drenched in laughter. “Just—splat. Full-body plunge. It’s like Mother Nature just said, ‘Hey, Laur! Remember those perfect shoes you were flaunting? Gotcha.’"
Lauren groaned but couldn’t help but laugh again. “Oh my God, I seriously thought I could recover!”
“That’s why I said it’s like prime slapstick comedy, Laur! It’s like something out of a Charlie Chaplin movie—the exaggerated movements, the prolonged moment where everyone’s watching, waiting to see how bad it’s going to be… and then that spectacular failure you’re pretty sure might not happen, but totally does. And on live stream too? Priceless.”
Lauren laughed into the receiver, fully understanding now why the moment had been so comical from the outside. The whole situation had become absurd in her mind—she could now picture herself as the hapless ballerina on a log, determined to stick the landing but doomed to fail. “Okay, I get it. You would’ve laughed at me. Fine!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have just laughed,” Fiona corrected through final giggles. “I would’ve peed my pants, Laur. But the important thing is, I love you. And I would’ve helped you up… after I stopped wheezing, of course.”
Lauren, still smiling, let out a long exhale. “Yeah, I guess I would've laughed too if it wasn’t me in the mud.”
“Exactly! And now you can look back and laugh because that, my dear sister, was a truly epic ‘woah, woah, woah’ moment. You’ll probably start using it in your captions. ‘Log diving at its finest!’” Fiona teased.
“Stoppp,” Lauren whined, laughing alongside her sister. “Maybe I’ll turn it into a reel and own the whole thing.”
“Now that, Laur, is how you become the real preppy queen: mastering grace and disaster in one vertical video.”
Lauren was smiling ear to ear now. “Okay, okay... I’ll think about it. But thanks, Fiona—you made me laugh at this. I needed that.”
“Anytime, ‘woah-woah-woah girl.’ Anytime.”
Be honest, what would you have been thinking as you watched me step up onto the log?
FeedBot
Staff member
### Fiona’s Honest Thoughts: The Log Moment
Lauren took a deep breath and braced herself for another one of Fiona’s no-filter answers. She knew asking for honesty meant really getting it—whether she wanted to hear it or not.
“Alright, Fi,” Lauren started, trying to sound casual but feeling a bit nervous about what her sister might say. “Be honest with me. What would you have been thinking if you were there watching me step up onto that log, all dolled up like I was?"
There was a brief pause, and then a low chuckle from Fiona. “Oof, Laur, do you really want to know?”
“Yes, I really want to know,” Lauren insisted, her voice dipping somewhere between curious and resigned.
Fiona was clearly holding back a laugh, but her tone was playful when she responded. “Okay, first of all, I would’ve been thinking: Obviously, she’s doing this for Instagram. I know you, Laur—you’ve got that whole preppy-girl shoot thing drilled into your head. And the moment you’d start lining up the shot, I’d be standing there thinking, ‘Oh no, here we go.’”
Lauren groaned. “You’d be thinking that?”
“Oh 100%. I mean, come on! I know you. Picture this: You, standing there, glowing with excitement like, ‘This is going to KILL on my feed.’ You’re probably looking around at Jake like, ‘Hold my bag, I’m about to create magic,’ right?”
Lauren cringed at how accurate that description was. “Okay, maybe…”
“And then, as soon as I’d see you eyeing that log,” Fiona carried on, her tone growing more amused by the second, “I'd know what was coming. I’d be thinking, ‘She’s going for it. She’s actually going to do this!’ And honestly, I’d already be cringing because, Laur, logs and white tops don’t really mix, you know?”
“I didn’t plan for things to go wrong!” Lauren protested, leaning into the defensive tone she always got when Fiona made fun of her.
“Ah, see, that’s the thing,” Fiona said knowingly. “You never do. But that’s why I’d have been standing there half-laughing the moment you climbed onto that log. In my head, I’d be like, ‘This is about to go from Pinterest to disaster in record speed.’”
“Oh my God,” Lauren sputtered, incredulous now. “You wouldn’t have even given me credit?”
Fiona’s laughter bubbled over. “Credit? Oh, babe, I’d give you credit… for commitment! Commitment to that whole curated life aesthetic thing you’ve got going on. It’s impressive, really. But as soon as I saw you balancing in that outfit, I'd know you were pushing your luck.”
Lauren crossed her arms and threw herself onto her back dramatically. “Okay, fine…”
Fiona wasn’t letting up, though. “Honestly, Laur, I’d have been mentally preparing for the moment you’d start wobbling. I probably would’ve had my phone out to film it," she teased, playfully emphasizing her words. "Not because I’m some terrible person but because I’d know the second you stepped up on that log in those Tretorns, you were on borrowed time!”
Lauren let out a faux offended gasp. “I can’t believe you!”
“Laur, this is just you! You walk through life like every day’s a photoshoot, which is really admirable—seriously—but it also means sometimes you’re gonna have these hilarious misadventures. And me? I’d just be sitting there, sipping my iced coffee, thinking ‘Welp… this is about to be gold.’”
Lauren couldn’t help but laugh now, fully picturing the scenario in her head—Fiona standing off to the side, grinning and literally waiting for her to make a fool of herself.
“I was trying to be careful!” Lauren argued again, but her laughter betrayed her.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” Fiona replied with a grin audible through the phone. “But as soon as you probably started doing that deep, calculated breath you take—like, you could never just step onto the log, you had to make it a moment—I’d be standing there thinking, ‘Yep… she’s narrating this in her head already.’”
“Wait,” Lauren interrupted, suddenly concerned, “do I actually make a face when I’m narrating a moment in my head?”
“Oh, honey, yes. It’s your ‘This is the shot!’ face,” Fiona teased, her voice laced with affection. “You get this little determined look, like you’re the main character in a Rom-Com about to have a crucial life moment. I’ve seen that look a million times.”
Lauren sighed loudly, but couldn’t help laughing at how spot-on Fiona was being. “Okay, you may be right about that… but I genuinely thought I could pull it off!”
“And that’s what makes it so good!” Fiona hooted. “In that moment, on that log, you’re like ‘Yes, I am everything right now.’ But I?” Fiona dropped her voice into an exaggerated stage whisper. “I’d be thinking, ‘Five bucks says this ends in mud.’”
Lauren erupted into laughter again, clutching the pillow tight. “Ughhh, fine, but you’d still have helped me, right? After you stopped laughing…?”
“Oh, definitely." Fiona snickered. “I’d’ve come in with a towel, a camera full of videos, and maybe some pity.”
“Gee, thanks,” Lauren grumbled, still grinning. “A true sister’s love.”
“Always,” Fiona said, her voice softening now. “Hey, I’d be laughing with you, not at you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Lauren conceded, feeling less embarrassed and more grateful now. “And yeah, if I saw someone else do what I did… I guess I’d laugh too.”
“I mean, come on,” Fiona replied, laughing again, “it was prime-time slapstick waiting to happen.”
Lauren took a deep breath, finally accepting how absurd the situation had been. “I guess I should’ve seen that coming.”
“No harm, no foul,” Fiona reminded her. “Just some muddy shoes and a bruised ego. You’ll live—and, who knows? You might even get a viral moment out of it.”
Lauren groaned with a smile. “Let’s not push it.”
Fiona chuckled softly this time, the playfulness giving way to her usual warmth. “But hey—you keep aiming for those perfect moments. I’ll always be here, rooting for you from the sidelines... and secretly hoping for a few more falls along the way.”
“Shut up!” Lauren laughed, shaking her head as she hung up the call, the sound of Fiona's laughter still ringing in her ears.
What do you mean by slapstick? Have you ever seen a girl get her new white sneakers muddy when she didn't want to? Was it her own fault and how mad did she get?
FeedBot
Staff member
### What Do You Mean By Slapstick?
Fiona snickered when she heard Lauren’s question. “What do I mean by slapstick? Oh, Laur…”
“Seriously!” Lauren said, genuinely curious now. “You keep throwing that word around. I know it's supposed to be funny, but what are you trying to get at?”
Fiona's tone came back, brighter. "Okay, okay, you know how slapstick is that kind of physical comedy where people fall over, trip, or get hit with pies in the face? It’s all exaggerated, dramatic, and most importantly—no one means for it to happen. Think of, like, old silent films with Charlie Chaplin or, better yet, cartoons. It’s always that frantic moment when someone’s trying desperately to avoid disaster, but everything is just working against them.”
Lauren sighed. “So, I’m basically the Charlie Chaplin of influencer mishaps?”
“Exactly!” Fiona exclaimed with a chirp. “You’re out there in your perfect little preppy outfit, prancing around on a log over a mud pit, and it’s supposed to be graceful and controlled, but then everything that could go wrong—does." She paused for effect, then added, "In the most spectacularly dramatic way possible."
“So, my whole life is basically a sitcom,” Lauren grumbled jokingly.
Fiona laughed. “Well, at least today it was! And that’s what makes it slapstick—the way you absolutely didn’t want things to go that way, but they totally did. You were doing everything to avoid that disaster, but watching you flail, struggle, and ultimately faceplant in the mud is exactly what makes it hilarious. And it’s even better because, come on, you’re not a slapstick person—that’s what makes it work.”
“I am not,” Lauren agreed, her voice playfully defensive. “I didn’t ask for a mud bath in the middle of my spring shoot.”
---
### Have You Ever Seen a Girl Get Her White Sneakers Muddy?
Lauren sat back down on her bed, wrapping her arms around her knees as she kept Fiona on the line. “But seriously, Fi… have you ever seen a girl, like me… get her new white sneakers muddy? Did she freak out?”
“Ohhh, poor you,” Fiona teased with a soft laugh. “You and those Tretorns. I knew they were going to be the biggest tragedy of the day as soon as you said they got ‘ruined.’”
“It’s no joke!” Lauren shot back, laughing as she shook her head. “They were practically glowing against that background before the mud disaster happened.”
“Well, to answer your question—yes, I have seen that happen. In fact, I watched it happen. There was this girl at a picnic last year, and she showed up all cute and put-together, much like you were today. She had on this super pristine white outfit—white shorts, white striped top, and brand new chunky white sneakers. Fresh out of the box. They still had that factory shine, you know what I’m talking about.”
Lauren nodded, laughing lightly. “Yeah, I know that look. Untouched.”
“Exactly! So the picnic’s in this nice little park, but there’s this stretch of grass that was still really damp from the rain the day before. When we all decided to walk across the park to get to the tables, I remember thinking, ‘Uh oh, white sneakers lady is in for a surprise…’ and what does she do? The exact thing you did. She charges right toward the soggy area.”
“Oh, no…”
“Oh, yeah. She was convinced her shoes would survive—just like you were.” Fiona snickered again. “It was like she stepped into a minefield of wet earth. And the second that first sneaker hit the mud, I swear I could literally see the regret take over her whole body in slow motion.”
Lauren grimaced in sympathy. “Ouch. Did she try to avoid the mud after that?”
“Nah, she was in too deep, Laur. Once that first step went down, the rest followed. Each footfall was tragic, honestly. Every time she stepped, you could just hear the squelch sound, and the white sneakers were slowly swallowed by the mud. There was even this moment where she stopped and just looked down at her shoes, wide-eyed, like, ‘This isn’t happening.’ But oh, it was.”
Lauren could no longer hold back her laughter. “I’m starting to feel better about my own disaster.”
“She was definitely upset, though,” Fiona continued, thinking back. “You could see the frustration and disappointment all over her face. She tried to smile through it, but you just knew she was embarrassed and trying not to kill the vibe at the picnic. But, good lord, she gave her shoes this glare like they had betrayed her personally.”
“That exactly how I was feeling today,” Lauren admitted with a sigh. “I was so mad at myself—and at Jake for filming the whole thing.”
Fiona giggled. “Well, at least you didn’t get as mad as this girl. She just kept looking down at the sneakers in absolute horror throughout the entire picnic. Any time someone brought up her shoes, you’d hear, ‘Don’t even talk about it.’ At one point, her friend tried to say, ‘Well, at least they’re broken in now!’ and I think she almost killed him with her eyes.”
Lauren erupted in laughter again, the ridiculousness of the story easing her own lingering embarrassment. “Okay, now I feel better! I didn’t get that angry—I mean, I was mad, but at least I didn’t have to sit at a picnic and look at my muddy shoes a whole afternoon. I would’ve died.”
“Yup,” Fiona said, chuckling. “But you know, it’s just something that happens to anyone who wears white sneakers outside.”
Lauren paused for a second before speaking, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. “Yeah… I guess I just didn’t want today to be a flop. I was so sure everything was going to be perfect.”
Fiona’s tone softened then, sisterly and sincere. “I know, Laur. But hey—it’s just mud. Your sneakers? Sure, they’re done for, I won’t pretend otherwise. But you? It’s not that big of a deal in the long run. You’ll laugh about today, just like we are right now. And, most importantly? You’ll keep taking risks, making life moments, and yeah… getting muddy sneakers now and again.”
Lauren smiled, feeling both the comfort of her sister’s words and the release of laughter lifting the weight of the day’s mishap. “Thanks, Fi. And hey, maybe next time I’ll wear boots.”
Fiona laughed back, affectionately. “Maybe. But I kind of hope you don’t… I’d miss the slapstick.”
“Shut up!” Lauren laughed, feeling much lighter as the conversation wound down. For now, she could live with a little mud—and a little sisterly teasing.