Hittin' people with stuff? Hell Yeah!

Once upon a time, many many years ago when I was a child, I leaned toward hitting people with stuff. Yep. I was a hitter. And not even because I meant to. I don't even get to have that. I was, for a lack of a better word, clumsy. Not so much that I'd fall down a lot, OOooohhhh no. 'Cuz I'd do stupid shit. Yep, Here's my sign. My bestest friend growing up was the boy next door.

We were the same age, and had more fun than any child should ever have. But...... there were consequences. Nearly every summer he hit me in the face with a wiffle ball bat and I'd pass out. Yeah, I know, I was a fainter. Now, he didn't mean to do it. We were kids playing hard. Wiffle ball, hide and go seek, "Bloody Murder" (an evening version of hide-and-go-seek) , lets throw rocks at each other. What can I say? We were kids growing up in a town with nothing to do, we found our own fun. So anyway, back to my tail of woe.
We were battling. I had a metal snow shovel circa 1909 and he had a dirt shovel. For some ungodly reason we thought it a phenomenal idea to use them as swords.... (can you see where I'm going here?). Slash..... BANG.......... clang.... the fight was on..... Suddenly he missed a blocking maneuver I expected him to make. *SMACK* The sickly wet sound of a flat aluminum shovel meeting the side of a 10 year old boys face.... *fade to black*
I think I stood there SCREAMING until someone came to see what was wrong. I knocked that mutha out, yo. I wasn't in trouble, although I was sure I was, and he recovered, albeit bruised. And we continued on with our games of hurting each other, even when we didn't mean too.
And this trend followed me through my life. Yeah, I was totally a bully. I beat up anyone. I intimidated like it was my job. I wasn't well liked. I spent my childhood with a bullies nickname, (and I Reveled in it), my pre-teen years kickin poor boys in the balls for irritating me ( and I had deadly aim), and my teen years crying 'cuz no one liiiiiikkeeeeeed me..... *sniff sniff* After I got my first apartments I smacked a possum with a shovel, he was in my trash. And my coup de grace, I hit a Skunk with a trowel. What can I say, I had been drinking, it was dark and all I could see was the white stripe poking out of my trash bag. My god, I smelled skunk for DAYS even though I didn't get sprayed. *The mist sticks to the hairs in your nose and somehow permeates your brain.* At the local bar some drunkard tried to take out my husband and I hit him with my Genesse bottle. Yeah, lets all say it together, I have class.....

Comments: Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]