And my Mom received them, opened them and there was no 911 involved.
Aside from the typical 70s clothing, something hit me about one particular picture:
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That's me, on the left - no hat. Babysitter Lady had a son who was one year older. We were watched at their house. Do you see it yet? I AM PLAYING WITH A BRICK. I am not sure if I'm frosting it like cake, or if I'm actually playing "build a fence/driveway/house." I'd go with cake since most of my childhood was spent eating dirt in various forms after having been convinced by others to do so.
Can my parents actually claim to be surprised that I am not the delicate flower they seem to expect knowing I played with bricks? I think not. And I will now be throwing that around when I've got nothing else to say. Which means every time.
Why did you/How could you/Why would you/ What were you thinking? "I'm sorry. I played with bricks when I was a child"
Like my own personal pictographic Wikipedia of abnormal child development.
3 comments:
OMG, I'm dying of laughter.
When I was about that age, instead of playing "house" I played "apartment." (I wish I was making any of this up.) I didn't have a husband or kids and I didn't cook. I came home from work every day, paid the maid and ordered in. Every Wednesday night, my boyfriend would come over and spend the night. On Wednesdays, he would bring over dinner and flowers. Chris, the boy in our group, loved it when he got to play as my boyfriend instead of someone else's husband because he could go do whatever until I shouted "It's Wednesday!!!!" at him.
Yep. And they wonder why we're the way we are. ;)
Your new Indian name is "Plays With Bricks"
You crack me up every time.
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