I am sitting here with my sisters, and we are painting wine glasses and laughing at our efforts. We begin to tell stories from our childhood. Dooj and Vix do, that is. I can't remember much of my childhood.
Dooj talks about her first typing class in high school with Mr. Pilgrim. What did she have to type? "I will not chew gum in Mr. Pilgrim's first period typing class ever again." One hundred times she typed that. She says it is why she is an excellent typist today.
Vix tells us about cutting class with the other seniors one day in high school. The problem? Our mom worked in the office at school. Her teacher came through the office and asked mom if Vix was feeling ok, and Mom said sure she was. Then the teacher mentioned that Vix wasn't in class that day. Mom screamed at her at home that night, and told her she hoped she didn't fail. Vix made an A in the class.
Patty Martinez told Dooj in the fifth grade that she was fat. Dooj said it was true, she was fat, but by 7th grade she was a sweater girl (aka "boobage") and Patty Martinez never said anything else to her again about being fat.
Dooj also talks of spending her lunch money in middle school at the candy store (the same candy store she kissed John Conwell in during another adventure), and going to the secretary's office to tell them she had "lost" her lunch money, because she knew mom had a deal with them to front her lunch money if she needed it. (If that had been me, I would have been so afraid I would have gone hungry before lying about it.)
Vix talks about rescuing the transistor radio that was stolen from me in grade school. We were supposed to leave them at home, but I was vain and wanted to show off the transistor radio no one else had, because dad brought them back to us from a trip to Japan, and that made the radios, and by ownership, made us special too. (We were Air Force brats.) Someone took it, removed the leather cover, and showed it around. I saw the radio, and the thief, and told Vix what had happened. She walked right up to the girl and ripped it out of her hand, while shouting at her that she was a thief and that was her sister's radio. Vix was my hero. I feared everyone and everything and kept my face stuck in a book, and she saved my rear more times that I can recount.
What do I remember? Not much, but I do remember tearing Mary Jo Zimmer's new skirt because she was walking in circles around me taunting me about the size of my butt, and I saw red, snapped, and grabbed that ugly yellow skirt and spun her around, telling her to SHUT UP. (Back then I was bullied a lot in school, but didn't realize it was bullying.) The funny part of this story was that Mary Jo had a butt the same size as mine. I didn't realize that at the time though, and when Mary Jo told me she was going to beat me up after school, I beat a hot path home screaming in fear. Mom went to school the next day to complain, and my teacher pulled out a note I had written weeks before with a bad word in it (I think the word was "ass") and mom totally folded and turned on me in a flash, saying she'd never stick up for me again. I didn't have to worry about it though, because I learned a valuable lesson that day.
Don't write notes.
I love my sisters. They make me laugh til I am out of breath. There is no one else like them in the world.