On December 22nd, 2017, I picked up my little sister to travel down to my parents’ house for Christmas. We wrangled all of her luggage and presents in with my luggage and presents into my tiny (read: adorable) hatchback, and set forth.
We hadn’t made it far out of town before my sister told me she had a good story to share. Little did I know this tale would be haunting me for days to come. I will recount it here for you. All names have been changed to protect the innocent.
“So, I had girl’s night with Lacy and Kendra on Sunday,” she began.
“Sunday Funday?” I interrupted.
“Yeah, so Lacy told us that her coworker Andi went on vacation with some of her co-workers to Las Vegas.”
“OMG Las Vegas. I love it there.” I interrupted again.
Ignoring my outburst she continued, “Before they went they decided it was going to be a girls-only trip. No bringing guys back or leaving with guys, just girl time.”
“Yeah, except on the last night, they were out at this bar, and one of the girls, not Lacy’s friend but Lacy’s friend’s coworker, met this guy.”
“And she told her friend, Lacy’s friend, that she wanted to go home with this guy, but they talked her out of it. Because it was girl’s trip. But she still made out with him a little and got his number.”
Here she pauses, because obviously the best part of the story is coming up.
“So she gets home, and she gets really sick. She’s got a terrible sore throat and a cough and after four weeks it hasn’t gone away.”
“Did he give her mono?!”
“No, just listen! She goes to the doctor and they check her out, and they’re all concerned and ask her if she has had contact with any strangers.”
“Yeah, they told her that she has a parasite you can only get from eating other humans.”
“Wow. That’s literally atrocious.” I was ready to change the subject, but she continued.
“Then they told her they needed all of the information she had about the guy. Apparently the police went there after they got a warrant, and he had 10 other women in his house, in jars.”
At this I simply made a sustained “aaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeewww,” noise. Because there is not an appropriate reaction to women in jars.
When we arrived at our parents’ house, she shared the story with them. They were both adequately disgusted and horrified.
The next day, she told our grandmother, who was also incredibly disturbed. This was my third time hearing the story.
The day after, Christmas Eve, she told the story to some of our cousins. To my sister’s absolute credit, she did not embellish this hellish story, even on what was her fourth re-telling of the Christmas season.
And that, I assume, is how I ended up dreaming of women in jars instead of sugar plums on Christmas.
Happy New Year! May you not get a parasite in 2018!