It's funny the things you remember about your childhood.
Like on Saturday mornings, I had to go to gymnastics, but I hated it because I would miss my cartoons, and was too tall to do the uneven bars (which were my favorite). Double whammy.
Or the time when I was six, I took leftover pancakes my mom had thrown in the trash, and attempted to feed them to the little white dog that lived there. Well, the owners also had a big German Shepard, and he came running out of the house, grabbed my arm with his jaws and shook me a little. Scared the jeebus out of me. I ran home crying, and as I sat there on the kitchen stool while my parents were on the phone (with the neighbor? animal control? who knows), my little brother whispered that I'd have to have a hundred rabies shots in my tummy.
A hundred is unimaginable to a small child. My brother was such a little stinker. I howled.
When my mom got me the coolest canopy bed with pink frilly bedding, my brother promptly started to talk to "Maynard". Who is Maynard, you may ask? Well, he's the ghost of a little boy who now lived behind my bed.
Of course, he did this to rile me up. It worked.
On the flipside, the best day of the week for me was Saturday. Cartoons. For hours. And growing up in ND, they didn't air HR PuffnStuff. But, we did have the following gems:
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