I was sitting here, daydreaming about my boyfriend, and got to thinking about some stories he’s told me about his childhood. The one that comes to mind most often for me is: Ants are spicy!
Yes, friends, ants are spicy. He and his friend were playing outside when they were little, and got it in their heads to start eating the ants. I think they were the little red fire ants, too. The ants were biting the hell out of their tongues, but at the time they didn’t know that; they just thought the ants were spicy!
I still poke fun at him sometimes for that one.
I’m having trouble thinking of a cute story about my own childhood. I sure was an adorable kid, though. Maybe I’ll come up with something later.
My mom and I were at the O-Club in Japan. There were floor-to-ceiling windows, and a dog was sitting outside. I was speaking to the dog in Japanese. When my mom asked why I was speaking Japanese to the dog, I told her it was a Japanese dog.
My mom said that one of the most touching things I did was when I was ten years old. It was Mother’s Day (or maybe it was her birthday) and of course I didn’t have any money to buy her a gift. So I cleaned the fish pond, which had gone a bit green. I didn’t finish by the time she got home from work, and she said I looked very disappointed that I hadn’t.
Once I learned how to crawl, I got into cabinets. That’s nothing exciting, but I apparently had a love for butter. Not eating it, but spreading it all over the myself and the walls.
At a family birthday party when I was 2-years-old, I went into hysterics when people started to wack a pinata with a bat. According to my mom, I had been eyeing it since we arrived at the party - I loved stuffed animals and animals in general. I wanted it. Also take in mind, when I was a kid - I thought everything had feelings. So when they started beating it, I flipped out to the point where they had to stop, in fear of me being traumatized or something. My grandma handed it over to me, I glared at everyone and walked over to an empty picnic table and wouldn’t let anyone near it for the rest of the day.
I use to play with roly polies. I was really gentle with them - essentially all I did was gather a bunch, put them in a “house” I made of dirt and grass and watched them “play” with each other. On some fateful days, my big brother would come over and stomp all over my buddies. After getting mad and crying to dad, I’d take my little toy shovel, and make a little mass grave for the victims. I’d also grab a flower from my dad’s garden and gather the surviving rolies and have a little funeral. My dad thought this was really cute. However, to keep the emotional trauma and carnage down, he’d try to mow the lawn when my brother wasn’t at home so I could play with my 'tato bugs in peace.
There were a few times where my brother would then come over and stomp on the funeral. He is pure evil, my brother.
My mom likes to tell the story (far, far, too often) about me taking my clothes off in the grocery store.
I was big enough to walk and was an early talker, but was still in diapers. Mom lost track of me, and when she found me, I was stark naked, running through the store giggling.
She asked me where my clothes were, but all I could say was, “By da peese, mommy, by da peese!”
She never did find them all, I’m told.
I’m also told that when I was a bit older (but not much, I wouldn’t think), that I was told by a check out clerk, “My, you’re a pretty little girl, do you have any brothers and sisters?”
To which I replied, “No, my daddy works late.”
My husband has a really funny one, but possibly not reprintable here.
I’m not sure how old I was, but I was playing out in the street with a friend and got my woolen jersey caught on the neighbour’s fence - I began to struggle and scream and cry for mom, so our neighbour came out and unhooked me. The volume of my screaming doubled and I desperately tried to hook myself back onto the fence - apparently only mom was allowed to free me!!
When my dad was little, his brother Clyde was given a kaleidescope as a birthday present - everyone exclaimed how wonderful this was, until a little voice asked - “Can I have a Peter-scope for my birthday?”
