Twerking in the Sun

2 Oct

Something I learned this weekend: when you twerk – in addition to losing your innocence – you also lose your valuable possessions.

Yes, this weekend I lost my Ray-Ban sunglasses in an apple orchard after “wall twerking” against a tree.

For those of you who don’t know what “wall twerking” is, let me give you the definition my mom gave my grandmother when she asked how I’d lost my sunglasses: “Wall twerking,” she explained, “is basically air humping with your feet against a wall…or a tree, in this case.”

For you visual learners, let me provide you with a photo:

twerking orchard

That, my friends, is wall twerking. Actually, orchard twerking.

Here’s how it happened:

It was just another quiet day in the orchard when my sister said, “let’s twerk against that tree!”

To which I was all, “right on, dude! Let’s DO it!”

That is usually how I respond when my sister has some crazy idea – with an overeager attitude and some surfer-dude expression of enthusiasm. There are two reasons for this type of response: 1.) Anyone – like my sister – who dares to wear clogs, overalls, and a pumpkin hat in the same weekend and who is 100% mentally stable (we think) is NOT someone to question when it comes to deciphering the “cool” from the “uncool”; and 2.) Anything you say while in the presence of someone who willingly wears clogs, overalls, and a pumpkin hat in the same weekend will inevitably seem lame, so you might as well go all out with surfer dude jargon.

(1970s expressions such as “groovy, baby!” are also acceptable. For an official set of rules, please see the “How to Relate to Your Hippie-Alternative, Bob Marley-Loving, Younger Sister” handbook.)

Anyway, my mom pretended for as long as she could that she was opposed to our behavior, occasionally uttering phrases such as, “that is quite enough” and “I don’t approve of Miley Cyrus’ overtly-sexual antics.”

Looks like someone follows Miley on Twitter and knows more about twerking than she lets on, MOM.

Critical comments aside, we finally wore my mom down, and she agreed to take a bunch of pictures of us. I think she was just curious to see how long I could stay in that position without falling into the pile of rotten apples that was festering below my face…

6.3 seconds is the answer to that question.

After our photo shoot, we descended the hill and went to enjoy some seasonal treats and to pick out our pumpkins.

And also to take more money shots, such as this:


And this:


And this:


(These are basically my family’s equivalents of linen and khaki-clad beach portraits.)

We were about to leave the orchard – or to be kicked out for our unruly behavior – when I noticed my sunglass case was empty. No big deal, they’re probably still on my shirt where I…

Nope. No they were not. Apparently, when you willingly submit your body to the twerking position, your sunglasses – casually hanging from the V-neck of your two-for-one Forever 21 t-shirt – are NOT safe, and will most likely NOT survive the journey to and from the Land of Twerk.

Yes, I was upset. But I also was double-fisting warm apple cider and a fresh cider doughnut when I discovered the glasses were missing, so I couldn’t be too upset, you know? You’ve got to count your blessings in life, and I’d counted about 1,000 calories of deliciousness that I was Hell bent on consuming.

“Aren’t you going to go look for them?” my mom asked.

“Smdfhdskfokaysdfkhk” I replied through chews.

Do you know how hard it is to climb an orchard mountain while double-fisting seasonal treats?? REALLY HARD. Not only was I BLINDED by the sun, but my cider was also sloshing all over the place, my doughnut kept crumbling, and I kept missing my mouth every time I tried to merge Operation Dunk with Operation Bite.

When I finally got to the top, I retraced all of my steps; I searched through the tall grasses; I even thought to ask a nice looking family if they’d seen my sunglasses (not realizing they didn’t speak English and probably thought I was talking about some kind of solar eclipse, based on the way I kept gesturing to the sun and then to my eyes).

The Ray-Bans were 100% MIA.

I sadly descended the hill and went to the official “Desk of Orchard Affairs” (yes, bureaucracy exists even in nature) to ask the owner if anyone had turned in a pair of sunglasses.

“Why yes, someone did!” she said. “Are these them?!”

She then pulled out a pair of brown sunglasses – which were missing a lens and had some questionable sticky stuff (not unlike the festering pile of apple cores I had fallen into earlier) on one of the earpieces – and asked if they belonged to me.

“No,” I said. “Those aren’t them.”

“Well, let me take down your info and we’ll call you if they turn up! What type of sunglasses were they?” she asked.

“Ray-Bans. Black Ray-Bans,” I responded.


I never did get a call about them.

But do you know what I DID get? WINDED. Apparently, my mom had entered into the orchard thickets to search for my glasses; and yet, we somehow managed to miss each other FOUR TIMES, forcing me to ascend and descend enough times to make me wish that apples had NEVER EVEN BEEN BORN.

(I don’t mean that.)

I think all of the vigorous physical exercise was the universe’s way of saying, “I know you initially chose stuffing your face over looking for your glasses, so now you will suffer, YOU BIG FATTY.”

The universe had a solid case.

When we finally left the orchard and met the rest of my family for dinner, I overheard my grandmother whispering to my grandfather about how I’d lost my Ray-Bans.

“What’s ‘tworking’?” my grandfather asked.

“It’s humping a tree,” my grandmother explained.

Miley, consider your life’s goal accomplished.


2 Responses to “Twerking in the Sun”

  1. geanieroake October 9, 2013 at 8:26 pm #

    Shame on you twerking a tree. Too funny though. I want to read the rules for dealing with crazy sister handbook. Does it exist?

    • sophpearl October 9, 2013 at 9:45 pm #

      Thanks for reading! The book doesn’t exist yet, but it’s about time someone write it. That’ll be my next project 🙂 And then maybe I’ll write the book on twerking? Oh the possibilities.

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