I was a Terrible Child.


When I was a little kid, I was basically a tiny little frenetic ball of idiocy that was constantly running into things and cutting myself open accidentally on sharp objects (and also sometimes dull objects). I was a terrible, terrible child. Anyone that misremembers that fact either has severe memory loss or a strange perception of how big of a pain I was.

Pictured: An evil mastermind.

Pictured: An evil mastermind.

Here’s the cold hard proof.

I used to steal golf balls and hide them in the beach because I was pretty positive they would hatch like turtle eggs. Exactly where I got that idea, I’m not sure, but I ran with it for an embarrassing period of time. Also, we lived next to a golf course, so there were plenty of golf balls to be had.

As soon as I realized I was immune to poison ivy, I decided to build a fort (which basically was where I kept my stolen golf balls) right in the middle of a poison ivy patch, so my parents couldn’t grab me whenever they wanted for chores or whatever. My Grandma used to stand on the outside of my den and yell at me to come in for dinner, and if I didn’t feel like it, there was nothing she could do. Which is, admittedly, impressively evil for a seven year old.

I would sometimes sneak downstairs at night and steal spoonfuls of honey out of the cupboard. That’s right parents, our house wasn’t haunted (lies, it was totally haunted), that was ME being a SNEAKY SNEAK. And I TOTALLY SLID DOWN THE BANNISTER TOO. HAHA.

We used to play this game call King of the Jungle Gym when I was seven or eight, and it involved two people on opposite ends of the structure  meeting in the middle and kicking each other off. The girls were mysteriously good at this game. Why? Because I totally taught them where to kick the boys. Yeah. Yeah, I kinda feel bad about that one now.

Every time someone bought me a Barbie doll, I’d get all my guy friends together and we’d cut the hair off, tear it limb from limb, and bury the pieces.

Hey Grandpa, wondering where that pack of cigarettes mysteriously vanished to when I was ten? Yeah, I buried it in the back yard (I apparently should have been an archaeologist, because I loved burying things).

 

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