Tag Archives: childhood

Seriously, Just How Important Is A Birthday?

Posted on by Standard 87

Updated: See My Goofy Picture at the Bottom

Today is my birthday.

I don’t say that so everyone makes a big deal about it. I only mention it because I’ve been thinking lately about why most of my life I’ve spent this particular day each year waiting to see who would remember, yet avoiding the internet, telephones, and the mail. What an odd thing to do, now that I really think about it. And on the back of a motorcycle yesterday, I had plenty of time to dissect why I hate most holidays, but especially Christmas and my birthday.

Growing up, my birthday always fell around the time that we were packing up and moving to a new place. My mom was a master packer/mover, and it literally took her one day to get us organized, packed, and loaded. Frankly, it was kind of an incredible sight, but it was also kind of depressing for me. We almost never stayed anywhere long enough for me to make friends, and being a “summer” birthday girl, there weren’t any birthday parties, with the exception of my sixteenth birthday. And,  I am pretty convinced that my Aunt Pamela was behind me actually having a Sweet 16 party, not my mom. We happened to be living in Harlingen for that birthday, and for once, I had quite of few friends from the private school that I had known since we were all small. I remember my Aunt Pam asking me what I wanted to do to celebrate my birthday that year, and I have no idea what my answer was. What did it matter what I hoped for? I figured we’d get a cake and some ice cream, they’d sing to me, and I’d get a present from my Aunt and Uncle and my Grandmother. All of these things were more than we ever did when we lived away from my mom’s sister and mother. Most of the time, Mom would bake a cake a few days after my birthday, promising that the next year would be better. But when it came to my aunt, she wouldn’t dream of not getting me a present. She was always good about things like that.

I knew my mom wouldn’t be able to afford a gift for me for this birthday either, but would promise that next year would be better. Growing up, I can count the gifts I’ve gotten for my birthday on one hand. And most of them came from other family members, but not my mom or stepfather.

It isn’t about the gifts or parties for me, though. It was about feeling special…like someone was glad that you’d shown up in this world, and wanted you to know it. And so, each year was a painful reminder to me that even mom didn’t think much about the day I showed up in this world…And I was her First Born Kid!! In fairness to my mom, though, she was from just as broken a childhood as me, and her family didn’t make a big deal about her birthday either. I think she’d be surprised to know that I always felt this way, and probably a bit guilty as well. She was raising five children, all very different and very demanding in different ways, plus not getting much help in any of the areas of her life from her husband, all the while making a little bit of money stretch to pay for just the very basic needs we had. Birthdays were just not a priority when it came to all that she was trying to balance.

Believe it or not, I didn’t get bitter about it, even as a kid. It was sad, but normal at my house. I didn’t get parties, but neither did the other kids in my family, and to me that was even worse. My two brothers and two sisters are actually quite a bit younger than me, and to see them disappointed when they were little was just mortifying. They seemed always to hope they would have a birthday party with all of their friends, or wish for a specific toy,  but I only remember them getting one or two parties the whole time I lived there. They did get presents, though. Their grandmother (we have different fathers) was always faithful about sending gifts to them no matter where we were, and as they got older, those presents were pretty much what they would request. And they were always wonderful gifts, so that made the sting of their birthday disappointments less potent. But, for my brother and I, who weren’t the biological grandchildren, it was a rub in our faces. We usually got socks and underwear for presents…A keen reminder that we didn’t belong to that family.

Anyways…enough of the sad stuff..

That Sweet 16 birthday party was a surprise party for me, and it always brings back good and bad memories. The happy memories were that all my friends, including Audra, were there, and my cake was Garfield the cat, and we had a pinata, and I got a lot of presents. The only bad memory was that my step-grandmother asked me if I was a lesbian because she’d never seen me “go around” with a boy. And she wasn’t asking innocently…it sounded like a snide accusation. But, I didn’t know what a lesbian was, and by the time she explained it to me in a way my rather innocent mind could understand, I was so freaked out, it took me sneaking a shot of vodka or whiskey, I forget which,  to calm myself back down..

This isn’t my step-grandmother. It is just a keen likeness of how I remember her….

I never knew my step-grandmother all that well, having only met her a handful of times, so her opinions about me were not only not welcome, but downright insulting!  At first, I sat there with my ears turning red, knowing that if I opened my mouth, no good thing would come from it. But I wasn’t going to let this woman accuse me of anything when she’d only ever even seen me less than 5 times ever. It was the principal of the matter. I started off calmly… I told her I wasn’t allowed to date, so it wasn’t like I could bring guys around. But, I lost control of my calm exterior quickly, and I told her that I’d had a few boyfriends, none of whom I wanted around this f***** up, freak-show of family I was in. By the last words, I was semi-shouting, and standing up. I know. There was nothing Godly about my reaction. I was just hoping to have one nice birthday party, and it seemed like this step-grandmother just wanted to ruin it for me.  All in all, though, it was a pretty tame response considering  I had just found out that there was such a thing as same sex sex, which I evidently gave the impression I was into, by an old woman who I always thought was cold, bitchy, and stuck-up (because she always talked about how much money she had, and how she was going to be buried by her dead husband, not my grandfather). She never did anything for me to reassess my initial opinion of her, and that very moment, she actually proved what I’d suspected since the first time I’d met her..she was just a mean woman; she was attending my party to see if she could ruin it, nothing more.  Even now, I’m surprised by these kinds of people, who take some kind of joy in hurting someone else. It isn’t something I ever want to empathize with though. It is just pathetic to hurt anyone else for amusement or sport.

She was very taken aback at my language, as she considered herself a sophisticated, classy lady, and such language was beneath her breeding (and money, I suspect), but evidently was delighted with the proof that I was indeed trailer trash; as for my insulting our family, that didn’t bother her much as she didn’t much care for us “lesser” members of her new husband’s bloodline, of which she wasn’t part of. But, for my lack of respect when addressing her, she was just livid!! And she informed me that this was why she didn’t spend time with my grandfather’s side of the family. We were rude, crude, and disrespectful. I only heard rushing water in my skull while she lectured on, and in the end, she got the last word  because I walked off while she was still scolding me, heading to the bathroom to analyze what had just happened with this strange old woman, process lesbianism and its ramifications in my universe,  freak a bit about how much trouble I was going to be in when the old hag tattled to my mom about our little spat, and figure out how to steal a shot of vodka so I could go outside and enjoy my damn Sweet 16 birthday party.

I accomplished all of these things, and happily, I never saw my step-grandmother again. My mom was too horrified that someone thought one of her kids was a lesbian to care about anything else that was said or done.  I skated by with only a vague frown about my use of the F word, but I think mom was secretly a little glad someone had finally gone off on the haughty new wife. Mom and my aunt whisked me back to my pinata and the step-grandmother was gone when we went back in the house a little while later. Another thing I think I have my aunt to thank for.. …   :-) Best.Birthday.Party.Ever.

As a mother and a wife, birthdays have gotten much better. My kids never forget my birthday, though Chef has forgotten once or twice, but quickly made up for it. I don’t always get a gift, but it isn’t because no one could be bothered. Gifts don’t matter much to any of us.

But without fail, even with my own little family remembering and celebrating for years now, I’ve always waited to hear from my mom, my dad, or any of my brothers or sisters.

My mom has always forgotten my birthday for at least one day. Always. My dad, who had been missing most of my life, has never forgotten my birthday, but could usually not find me to tell me he was glad I had been born. When he had a way to call me, he always has. I know my dad loves me.

I’ve heard from my sisters on a few occasions (once or twice) over the span of 20+ years, and never from either of my brothers. And always, by the end of the day, I feel sad all over again that most of my childhood family cares so little about me, or even each other. We are all so very broken by that life, we can’t even turn to one another for comfort and encouragement in these new, better lives we’ve made for ourselves.

Almost a decade ago, Chef and I moved here to Tulsa from Texas, and we did something that we normally never did. We started to make friends. We started letting people into our lives. It was very unfamiliar to me, but Chef had missed having friends to hang out with, and I soon began to enjoy the interactions as well. And birthdays suddenly became less of a Waiting For Disappointment days, and more of a day to enjoy the company of friends and family who did actually give a crap that I had been born.

A few years ago, my motorcycle club sisters threw me a surprise birthday party…I literally had no clue they even knew my birth date, much less would bother to get the word out to all the girls, without me finding out!,  and gather for my party from not only Tulsa, but some smaller towns further away.  I was so surprised, I wanted to burst into tears. I did tear up, and then I laughed for the next couple of hours. The whole time I kept thinking about the only other party I’d ever had, and how it had been a surprise party too.

Only this time, there was no mean step-grandmother to make me feel ugly or unattractive, taking pleasure from embarrassing me…

Although there was an actual bisexual at this motorcycle biker chick party, but I already knew what that term meant; I had long ago quit judging other people’s decisions for their own lives, so I didn’t care that a bisexual was at my party; I love that bisexual, because to me she isn’t defined by any one thing about herself — good, bad, or whatever; and she would never do something intentionally to hurt someone else just for fun. And best of all, I got to wear a sombrero, and I totally rocked it. :-)

So, while birthdays started out kind of disappointing for me, they’ve gotten a fresh makeover in my mind over the last few years, and to turn over a new leaf, I’m not going to play the waiting game on a family that forgot me, and each other decades ago. Instead, I’m going to enjoy the people that are in my life now, and that includes all of you — my internet friends.

I don’t know that I’ve ever had any group of people pray for me and my family like you all, and it is without hesitation that I can promise you all know more about my life than any of my extended family does. And yet, you keep coming back, encouraging me, crying when I cry and laughing when I laugh. I appreciate all of you, and will never be able to express how all the kindness has helped me.

I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!!

– Bird

 

PBOL Vickey still had a picture from my party…I’m not photogenic, but I think the sombrero works. Proceed at your own risk….  :-)

Return of A Childhood Staple

Posted on by Standard 26

Tonight, the television series Dallas returns. For me, this series brings back a lot of good memories.

Mainly of my aunt, who was a die-hard fan of both Dallas and Dynasty, as well as Star Trek. If you didn’t want to experience an early death, you never touched the VCR on the nights that these shows came on.

I wasn’t allowed to watch television at home, but luckily, my aunt ended up having two little boys right at the time I became old enough to babysit, and so I ended up spending a lot of time with my aunt, uncle, and two little cousins….. And HBO, Dallas, Dynasty, Star Trek, and my favorite, Battlestar Galactica.  Of course, Battlestar Galactica was in reruns by that time, but for me, I was being introduced to the miracle of science fiction for the first time.

We’d get all of our drinks and snacks ready, and line up in front of the old stand-alone television set, the VCR loudly humming and clicking as it began recording, and the strum of excitement would echo the Dallas instantly recognizable opening theme song. And no one would dare speak until the commercials, mainly because my aunt would have flipped out, but also because the show moved quickly, and you either kept up, or you were going to be lost until you re-watched the tape 14 times over the next week in preparation for following week’s episode.

Yesterday, while filling out job applications on-line, I watched old reruns of Dallas from the ’80′s on my TNT On-Demand channel. And wow, if I didn’t remember most of what was going on back then! I’m guessing they were hitting just the important parts of the series so we’d be somewhat familiar with what was going on tonight when the characters all return to our lives. The episodes weren’t in order, or even set in the same seasons. I paused the action many times to take phone calls or to scan in a written application and send it over the net to an awaiting friend. Then, I set my guide to switch to the channel instantly whenever the new shows came on tonight, set the DVR in the living room to record that show and Breaking Bad and Suits when they come back on, and then smiled a little, thinking about my aunt’s 4 million VCR tapes that she meticulously preserved her favorite shows on. They used to take up an entire book-case along one whole wall.

I’ll bet she’s preparing for the return by having a party! I wonder if she’ll record them on RW-DVD‘s or just order the boxed set when they come out? Man, has technology changed since then or what?!

On another note, Chef is back, probably setting a world record in the Shortest Separation Ever category, so we’ll see how all of this goes. Thank you all for the prayers, and please keep them coming.

– Bird

The One Time Losing My Temper Worked Out In My Favor

Posted on by Standard 30

I thought I’d tell you a story about how I won a partial scholarship to Texas A&M, and how it really started with an

Buckholts Dry Goods

Buckholts Dry Goods (Photo credit: chickadee23) My mom actually worked for a little while at this store.. :-)

argument I had with a Home Economics teacher in Buckholts, Texas my very first day at this new school. Most of the stories that include me losing my temper end rather badly for me, but this one had a good result.

As I may have mentioned, my stepfather was (and still, is) a high school sports coach by profession, and growing up, he moved us upwards of 36 times. Sometimes we returned to towns we’d lived in before, but for the most part, I’ve gone to a ton of different schools, and rarely stayed long enough at any of them to put down real roots or to even bother remembering the teacher’s names. The two exceptions to this rule was Harlingen, Texas, where I would always return to the Christian private school, and Buckholts, Texas, a tiny town with a tiny public school. I went to my first day of high school in Buckholts, and unusual for us, I actually stayed at this same school for two whole school years. Buckholts was the keeper of a lot of my “Firsts” memories…first boyfriend, first kiss, first time I shaved my legs, etc. You get the idea.

Ask anyone who knew me in Buckholts back then, you’ll probably find that most people only remember me in connection to my football/basketball/track coach stepfather, and very few will have any direct memories of me. I had long figured out how to blend in the background, and added to the horror show that was going on in my family life, I was just fine with being overlooked. There are a few exceptions, of course, but I wasn’t a blabber mouth then like I tend to be these days, and I always felt self-conscious about people noticing me. So, I was pretty forgettable.

Being a tiny little school, my choice of electives my freshman year was a pretty short list– Home Economics or Agriculture. Now, as tough as you might get the impression I am,  being a biker chick and all, make no mistake. I’m a girly girl. I like girl stuff like pretty clothes, fingernail polish, hair ribbons, and when I was little, playing house. I could keep up with the boys when it came to climbing trees or playing tag, but my preference was always to have tea parties and wear aprons. So, it was kind of a no-brainer which one I picked…Home Economics. Agriculture sounded like I would have to get dirty, and that wasn’t all that appealing to me.

The very first day, the Home Ec teacher, I forget her name, instructed us to write a bit about ourselves and our families and then read it in front of the class. Now, it was obvious that this was her very first teaching job, and she was youthful and exuberant about launching her chosen career. Frankly, I think she let all the new-found power she felt about locking down her first paid teaching job go to her head, and that coupled with the fact that she was probably at best, 8 years older than us, just set up the perfect storm for our first ever interaction with one another.

I wrote a generic piece about my family, choosing to not share any intimate details about my own father, or the crushing divorce that wounded my very soul, or how my mom’s remarriage had all but taken her away from me too…on and on. I, instead, wrote names, ages, where we had lived, and stuff like that. Nothing personal or detailed. My family life wasn’t a story I ever shared with anyone. Period. Just too heavy for a “What I Did This Summer” kind of assignment. That’s how I saw it, anyways. The Home Ec teacher, though, was expecting my full and unbridled participation….

The Home Ec teacher, who was a big, somewhat notorious town gossip, had already heard the scoop about the new coach and his family over the summer, and she already had in her mind what she was expecting me to say. When I didn’t go into the gory details, not mentioning the divorce at all, she called me out immediately..and very publicly.. about not telling her and the class about my real father and how Coach was just my stepfather. She grilled me about my real father, a subject that had long been forbidden to talk about at home, right in front of the whole class!! I could feel the tears and hot embarrassment climbing from the pit of my stomach up towards my face. I could feel all eyes looking at me, and the shame at the thought of breaking down crying in front of these people was intense.  She accused me of being  misleading and dishonest in my report and she didn’t appreciate me not being more open with her and my fellow classmates. She was trying to sound authoritative, but all I could hear was that snarky, gossipy whine in her voice, and I could feel the rage building up. Seriously. What stones…!!!!

I think you know exactly how I reacted. First, I hated attention, so getting called out by the teacher in front of a bunch of kids I didn’t know,  on my very first day of high school was distressing, to say the least. Second, I don’t owe anyone an autobiography of the mess that was my family, and especially not about the dad I had installed on a pedestal in my mind, and who I had been forbidden to talk about at all, and third, if she made me cry in front of these people, I would die of humiliation..Just what exactly did any of my life history have to do with baking a damn cake or sewing together some random pieces of material into a quilt?? My mind groped for what this teacher could have possibly been thinking to get so incredibly personal with me, and in front of all these strange kids,  when we didn’t know each other at all, but nothing came to mind that could explain this behavior. My mind still reels at the audacity!

I remember my temper flaring up in what can only be described as Blackout Range, and I went off! I can’t even remember exactly what I said, but I do know that I was yelling, mainly because she had embarrassed me, and I wrapped up my tirade by dramatically ripping the stupid report in half, throwing the pieces on the floor, and telling her next time, she could just keep her nose out my beep-beep business. Then, I marched out of the class room, head held high, quick as I could.  Feeling the blaring red heat on my cheeks, I knew I was about to break down in tears, and not wanting the other classmates to see me cry, I beat a hasty retreat. I didn’t want to have been THAT girl… you know, the one who cried on her very first day of high school, at a brand new school. I’d never rebound after that. I’d be bully- fodder for sure if that got out….

I went straight to the gym and found my stepfather, half crying and half yelling my story out to him, in front of yet another group of kids I hadn’t met. I was making all kinds of first impressions that day. It was a gym, so there was nowhere to go that was private, and my rage was at such a level, I didn’t even care who heard me anymore. He listened, a confused look on his face, and then he escorted me to the principal’s office, the whole time not saying one word to me…As we entered the office, we came face to face with the  insulted teacher, evidently  pouring out her side of the tale before the new coach’s kid could cause too much damage. She sounded just as gossipy then as she had in the classroom, and I could tell from the principal and my stepdad’s faces, they were unsure how this strange incident had gone so terribly wrong in such a big way, and on the very first day of the school year, no doubt.

Now, in the entire time I’ve ever known my stepfather, I have never seen him get angry on my behalf, or even stick up for me in any kind of verbal assault. We aren’t close, and never will be. But this time, he seemed a little bit out of sorts with the nosy teacher, and he became brisk and authoritative. He politely informed the Home Ec teacher that she had overstepped her bounds, and that what we chose to share with people about our family was our business, and not something we owed to practical strangers or something we should be graded on, and he told the principal that he wanted me pulled from that class and put in to something else. Then, he abruptly left the office, leaving me standing with a confused principal and a nervous, panicky Home Ec teacher that had finally realized she’d misread the quiet new girl to a very large degree and maybe let her mouth run a bit excessively for her own good comfort… Not an auspiciousness start to the new school year for any of us, really.

The principal immediately walked me to the Ag Shop, and introduced me to my new teacher…an old man, with a missing digit on one hand. Yes, a total cliché, but completely true. And that was my first day taking Agriculture. For the two years in Buckholts, and the remaining years that I moved from high school to high school, I stayed in Agriculture programs as much as I was able. I raised chickens for FFA, and won Grand Prize, second, and third places at a major stock/rodeo shows, and earned myself a partial scholarship to Texas A&M, plus over $5000 selling the butchered chickens to Golden Fried Chicken in Cameron, Texas. :-)

English: Tandy Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 4P

English: Tandy Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 4P (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was FFA Sweetheart, twice, and FFA Vice President one year. I used my first home computer in Ag class, and wrote a simple DOS program on a TRS-80 that helped me place in District contests for Agriculture, FFA, and UIL. Later, I would go to tech school to learn computer programming. I ended up learning how to build a table, construct a birdhouse, weld, and most of all, I learned that I am not skilled in the art of building things with my hands, welding, putting together pre-fab birdhouses, or balancing a table. But, I loved every minute of it… I wouldn’t trade those memories for all the world. :-)

So, I can’t stay mad at the nosy, pushy, gossipy Home Ec teacher any more. I have a million wonderful memories attached to FFA, Agriculture, 4H and all those shop skills I sucked so badly at, and I can’t imagine how baking cakes and sewing clothes would ever have been able to compare. All in all, it was one time my temper actually worked in my favor.

– Bird

A Story for Mother’s Day — Meet Chef’s Mom

Posted on by Standard 15

One of the oddest things I’ve found about my husband, Chef, is his mother. No, this woman is easily the best mother I’ve ever seen, but after hearing the multitude of stories about things that she has endured at Chef’s hands as a child, I wonder how she survived raising him. I think I would have lost my mind sometime around Chef’s high school graduation. Added to these facts is that while Chef has a ton of qualities he obviously inherited from his mother, they don’t share the same sense of humor at all. Sue tends to be straight-laced and serious. She’s elegant, classy, and super intelligent. And every time she and Chef interact with one another, she always seems to be just a little bit confused by Chef’s sense of humor…Frankly, it is somewhat hilarious to watch.

One of my favorite stories is the time that Sue, Chef’s mom, drove Chef, his younger brother Anthony, and baby sisters Marie and Layla from San Antonio, Texas to Altus, Oklahoma to attend the graduation of a friend from a college there. Chef was about 8 years old at the time, and was already gaining a reputation in the family for being precocious and mischievous.

Staying at an affordable motel, the weekend had gone blessedly well, and the little family was packing up the car in the wee hours of the morning to head back home. Sue, unaware of what she was unleashing, had mentioned a couple of times that the clutch on her car was so tight and hard to push in, that her leg was getting tired, and Chef had decided that he would help her out. While everyone else was busy with packing preparations and breakfast chaos, Chef slipped silently out, and getting some pliers from the tool box in Sue’s trunk, he wiggled his little body underneath their car, and set about loosening the clutch so his mom would be able to drive the long miles ahead in comfort.

Chef’s Uncle Joe had always included him and his brother Anthony in the general masculine chores that had to be performed in the household, so Chef was able to locate the clutch mechanisms with ease, and he set about to quickly adjust the bolt, his heart pounding with the excitement, knowing his mother was going to truly love his gift to her. It took only a minute, and Chef quickly returned the pliers to the tool box and joined his family while they hastily packed up the car, and climbed in.

Sue, after settling everyone in their places, inserted the key, and pushed down the clutch….Thunk!! The clutch easily responded to the pressure of her foot…and then stayed there, lacking the strength to return to its original position.

Chef tells me that the thunking sound of the clutch matched the thunking sound his heart made in his chest when his mother exclaimed, “What the…??!!”

Chef, looking to insure that his innocence not be questioned, asked, in a rather guilty voice, “What did you do???”

Getting out of the car, Sue was at a complete loss to even begin to know where to look, and finally broke down and called the auto club she subscribed to.

Hours later, the mechanic arrived and within minutes, the problem had been located and fixed.

In a somewhat accusing tone, the mechanic insinuated to Sue that being a woman, she’d obviously been trying to adjust her own clutch, and should leave the fixing of her car to the men in the world.  It was the 1960′s, and such masculine opinions weren’t only acceptable, but predominant in the world at the time. Sue endured the mechanic’s snide insinuations, bold accusation, and general snarkyness, then thanked him for fixing the problem, and the delayed trip was once more in motion.

Driving down the road, Chef, thinking he may have just scraped by this one undetected, casually asked his mom what she thought had happened.

“You happened, son. But I’m not going to be mad at you because you were trying to help me out. But next time, don’t work on my car, okay?”

Chef has a really cool mom, wouldn’t you agree?

– Bird

 

 

The Cost of Doing Business

Posted on by Standard 7

One thing about my sister Rebekkah is that she comes up with big ideas, but she was always too chicken-shit to execute these plans alone. Hence, Caitlyn and I were always suckered into plans we didn’t always agree with. Caitlyn, being of sound mind, always thought these plans were stupid, but for whatever reason, this time she decide to tag along.

Back when I was 8, Cait was 7, and Bekkie was 9. We were living in Laredo, and because Mom traveled for her

= $8.00 - Enough to live above our means in Mexico!

job, and Dad was always working at his restaurant, they hired a Mexican nanny named Gabriella. We loved Gabriella. Rebekkah was always good at picking up other languages, and so she was our interpreter when Gabriella was telling us stories. And some of those stories inspired this epic adventure. Rebekkah decided that we three kids should move to Mexico. Of course, it was a stupid idea, but Bekkie is gifted at getting us to do these plans. Well, let me re-phrase this. She was gifted at getting me to do these things. And I could always be bought with not very much money. This time, it cost her $8.00, all of it mostly change. I was wealthy.

We each went to our rooms and packed our little backpacks and we headed out the back door, giving the appearance that we were just going outside to play. By the time we hit the back gate, which was about 20 feet from the back door, Caitie wised up, and blew off the plan, much to Bekkie’s chagrin. However, I had been paid, and was stuck doing this stupid trip.

Rebekkah and I made it through the gate, but then Bek decided that I should go first, and pave the way for her. So, I took my $8.00 down the road to a friend Davy’s house, and from there we found the raspa man, and spent the $8.00, hung out for a while, and then both of us went back to my house to play video games on my Nintendo 64.

Needless to say, Bekkie was pissed. I spent the $8.00, had a good time, and didn’t pave the way to Mexico. She demanded her money back, but I never gave it back. She owed it to me for coming up with this stupid idea.  After that, she would use this story about going to Mexico over my head to get me to do other stupid things.

I’m so glad we’re adults now. Not that being grown up keeps her from trying anyways… :-) Only these days, the prices are higher.

– DJ