The Hottest 4th of July I Can Remember
So, the 4th of July had me contemplating a post I've been thinking about for a while.
I haven't written it yet because I don't think it's really all that funny. But it highlights my own ridiculous, stubborn, high maintenance, and pouty behavior that has made me a legend in my own circles.
Wee One has been acting REALLY naughty and stubborn lately, which is totally and exactly how I was as a young girl. And to be honest, still am.
I remember a certain 4th of July when I was probably a freshman in high school. My parents had an archaic and super strict dating policy in our house, and that was simply, no dating til you were 16. And it wasn't just the no dating thing, apparently my mom thought all boys were evil, because we couldn't talk to one on the phone, go to a friend's house where a boy would be, and/or otherwise stand too closely or look too long at a member of the opposite sex for fear we'd, I'm guessing in her mind, get the sudden and inexplicable urge to get pregnant.
This particular 4th of July, the one I'm calling The Hottest I Can Remember, is so memorable because I was invited to join friends for the local fireworks..... and I was not allowed to go, because, you've probably guessed it you mind-readers you, there were going to be BOYS there. Gasp! Shriek! Faint in ladylike fashion.
As if it weren't bad enough that I wasn't able to hang out with my friends as the outgoing and very social 14 year old I was, I wasn't even allowed to stay home and pout about it in my typical, pissy fashion.
I was FORCED, against my will, to go the to fireworks with my parents and younger sister.
This was cause for some serious punishing of my parents, in my eyes. I wasn't going to have one bit of fun AT ALL. I was going to give them the silent treatment of the century. I was going to make everyone absolutely fucking miserable that night. And at the same time, I had to find a way to avoid my friends.
So logically, what did I do? I refused to get out of the car.
I refused to watch a single goddamn firework.
And to avoid being seen, I chose to lay in the backseat of the car and stew over my obvious mistreatment and borderline child abuse.
I was 14 years old.
Laying in the back seat of a car on a hot July night.
Pissed the hell off.
And sweating like an effing pig.
No one came to check on me. No one asked me to join them.
I was left to sulk like a big baby.
Turns out, the only person punished that night was me.
And my pride.
I still get a little pouty when I remember this injustice.
Happy freaking Independence Day that one was.
Hey! While you're here reading my crap, why don't you head on over to a new bloggy community I helped found with the lovely Marianna and Angela! It's called Cheesy Bloggers, well because...obviously. I'm involved, therefore it's a given that it's cheesy. But seriously, come on over, join us, write for us, link to us. USE us. We like it.
I haven't written it yet because I don't think it's really all that funny. But it highlights my own ridiculous, stubborn, high maintenance, and pouty behavior that has made me a legend in my own circles.
Wee One has been acting REALLY naughty and stubborn lately, which is totally and exactly how I was as a young girl. And to be honest, still am.
I remember a certain 4th of July when I was probably a freshman in high school. My parents had an archaic and super strict dating policy in our house, and that was simply, no dating til you were 16. And it wasn't just the no dating thing, apparently my mom thought all boys were evil, because we couldn't talk to one on the phone, go to a friend's house where a boy would be, and/or otherwise stand too closely or look too long at a member of the opposite sex for fear we'd, I'm guessing in her mind, get the sudden and inexplicable urge to get pregnant.
This particular 4th of July, the one I'm calling The Hottest I Can Remember, is so memorable because I was invited to join friends for the local fireworks..... and I was not allowed to go, because, you've probably guessed it you mind-readers you, there were going to be BOYS there. Gasp! Shriek! Faint in ladylike fashion.
As if it weren't bad enough that I wasn't able to hang out with my friends as the outgoing and very social 14 year old I was, I wasn't even allowed to stay home and pout about it in my typical, pissy fashion.
I was FORCED, against my will, to go the to fireworks with my parents and younger sister.
This was cause for some serious punishing of my parents, in my eyes. I wasn't going to have one bit of fun AT ALL. I was going to give them the silent treatment of the century. I was going to make everyone absolutely fucking miserable that night. And at the same time, I had to find a way to avoid my friends.
So logically, what did I do? I refused to get out of the car.
I refused to watch a single goddamn firework.
And to avoid being seen, I chose to lay in the backseat of the car and stew over my obvious mistreatment and borderline child abuse.
I was 14 years old.
Laying in the back seat of a car on a hot July night.
Pissed the hell off.
And sweating like an effing pig.
No one came to check on me. No one asked me to join them.
I was left to sulk like a big baby.
Turns out, the only person punished that night was me.
And my pride.
I still get a little pouty when I remember this injustice.
Happy freaking Independence Day that one was.
Hey! While you're here reading my crap, why don't you head on over to a new bloggy community I helped found with the lovely Marianna and Angela! It's called Cheesy Bloggers, well because...obviously. I'm involved, therefore it's a given that it's cheesy. But seriously, come on over, join us, write for us, link to us. USE us. We like it.
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