Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Youse can all git Fuckered!
That's what I wanted to say. When being reminded of my beautiful black and green stretchy troosers...the only pair of long pants I owned age seven thru to nine. I distinctly remember begging my mother to let me wear them to school in the dead of winter. Then having a couple of girls a few grades above try and make them longer by tugging on the hem of them. Which worked for the time that they held them. But soon as they let go them suckers they sprang right back partway up my legs.
I will never evah forget them pants. They introduced me to the realisation that we were sadly lacking in the haute couture and the recognition that we were rather poor. Heh.
Bit fucken hard to forget when yer extended family, yes thank you cousin Jay for coming down and seeing us after thirty odd years in not doing so. He who starts the reminiscing about our younger days; who insists on reminding you and every other family member of them bloody pants.
Yep I'm glad my brother threw a lump of wood that connected with yer head. He was pretty good at that huh. I know by the brick that he threw on mine. Yep whoda thought that a brick falling from a great height could re-split my head open at exactly
the same place that the shove [I don't care if my brother swears he bumped me while we were sitting in the laundry tubs] out a two storey laundry window that had cracked my head open just a few months earlier. Heh I'm a fucking survivor hyep. The next days evidence was the trail of hair running down the brick work before I hit the cement patch at the bottom.
Heh I have literally been dropped on my head.
He looked so innocent didn't he...Well I guess 'cause this was when he was.
Aww there he was playing with a sparkler on firecracker night...just a wee five months before I was born. Then a wee five months after I was born...according to the photo he was three years and one month. In his lovely little high buttoned get up no doubt being ready fer church. Don’t forget to look at me now. That’s me scrubbing about on the floor...notice the little golden haired boy [as he later became referred to by my cousins and myself] looks as if he is standing on my fingers. That’s because he probably was.
Posted by apositivepessimist ::
11:30 pm ::
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