*random memory*

[conuly]

This isn't even a real memory, it's just a story my mom tells about me. It must have happened when I was three or four. I was at the playground with my dad. He was sitting on a bench, and I was playing in the sandbox, and while we're both doing our respective things some little bullyboy is walking around with some sort of sport equipment (a baseball bat, a tennis racket, a hockey stick, I don't know) threatening all the other little kids so he can have the whole playground to himself. And none of the parents or nannies are stepping in, I don't know why.

And then he got to me. My dad was listening to the whole conversation, ready to intervene if Things Went Wrong, but apparently he didn't have to. It went something like this:

Other Kid (OK): Hey, get away from the sandbox or I'll hit you with this thing!
Me: Thing?
OK: Yeah, this thing?
Me: Thing? THING? You'll hit me with your thing? It has a name you know. And you call it a thing? You're carrying it around, and you don't even know what it's called? That's stupid. You're stupid. Thing.
OK: *scurries off*

*giggles*

Comments

[electricshadow4.livejournal.com]

What a great story! I don't have anything interesting to say, I just felt I had to respond.

[electricshadow4.livejournal.com]

What a great story! I don't have anything interesting to say, I just felt I had to respond.