As a young'un, I was a clean freak. Well, as much of a clean freak as a small-child-who-has-not-yet-experienced-reality can be. In other words, if you put a picture of me in a high-chair eating cake and a picture of my sister in a high-chair eating cake side by side, you would notice that there is considerably less cake on my face.
According to my mom, I had quite the....scarring(?)....experience when I went to the beach for the first time. I was just a toddler at the time, so there I was, venturing out into the sand for the first time with legs that had probably never seen anything but carpet, and *plop*, gravity gets the better of me. My physical state was a-okay, but my mental state was having a slight breakdown as I noticed the unfamiliar, sticky, grainy substance that had happily stuck to my palms. I wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but I knew that whatever was on my hands at that moment was definitely not something I wanted there. So I proceeded to violently shake my hands in a panicked manner with a look on my face that was probably a mix of Ron Weasley being faced with a hundred over-sized spiders and me when I found out that there were worms in my salad (which, coincidentally, also occurred at the beach). I don't know what that expression would have looked like on my small self, but I can imagine my parents were rather amused.
Needless to say, my sister always did the dirty work when it came to the serious business of making mud pies.
No comments:
Post a Comment