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The Price Is Right
“The Price is Right,” Nichole read from the two t-shirts resting on the bed. “The game show? That’s awesome! Where did you guys get those?”
Karlee and I exchanged a quick glance, “We wore them when we went on the show.” I said without missing a beat.
“You were on the Price is Right? When? I don’t believe you.” Nichole quizzed.
“No, it is true, isn’t it Karlee? We went this summer; we even got to go on the stage!”
At Karlee’s name Nichole twisted her head around to Karlee. With one eyebrow scrunched she stared into Karlee’s eyes until Karlee innocently agreed, “Nichole, we’re not kidding! It was so much fun!”
“When they called our names we both jumped up screaming and ran down the aisle. What was the first item we bid on? Was it the ceiling fan? No, that was second, what was first?” I wondered realistically.
“First was the bedroom set, but we won with the plasma TV.” Karlee rattled off.
“Oh, that’s right; I can’t believe I forgot already!” I replied ardently.
“You guys are full of it.” Nichole concluded, still obviously questioning our honesty. Her head bobbled between us trying to feel out any sign that we were lying.
“We even got the signatures of all the contestants who played! See?” Karlee pointed to the back of her white shirt that was covered with autographs.”
I tried to contain my smile while Nichole examined the seven names. “We were kind of disappointed that Bob Barker didn’t sign them though.”
“Really? You guys seriously went on the show?”
“Yeah,” we shouted in synch, nodding our heads.
“Hmm…” Nichole garbled, nodding her head. We made gregarious Nichole speechless!
We swapped one more glimpse at each other which was our worst mistake. No longer able to contain ourselves, Karlee and I fell over on the bed laughing. We lost our credibility, but she honestly believed us for a minute!
Gullible Nichole stood there with her hands on her hips taking in our reaction. Her jaw dropped when the realization hit, and the ends of her mouth slowly turned upward into her infamous “what did I just believe” smile.
“So you are kidding?” She asked when we had finally settled down enough to hear her.
“Don’t be naïve, Nichole. Read the fine print.” I mocked.
She leaned over to study the logo on the front of the white t-shirt. “F-F-A, Peak, 2006,” she read. “Oh, so it was an FFA camp?” And the laughter returned.