my mom really pissed me off one morning and in a fit i told her i was running away. i loudly packed my things in my lisa frank backpack and marched right out the door, huffing, puffing, and stomping my way to my get away ride- my shiny pink bicycle, with the training wheels recently removed and brand new streamers, this bitch was boss. i saddled up on that pony and took off for the great beyond with the piercing conviction only a four year old could muster.

i made it about three yards before the first fall, but nay, my friends, no simple flesh wound would stop me! even now i commend myself for the effort. i had been robbed, my pride had been hurt, and i would stop at nothing until i showed my mother just how ridiculous she had been- she was going to regret making me angry, damnit! the unfortunate kink in my plan is that i hadn't actually learned to ride a two-wheeler, yet and after about five tries and still trapped inside the boundary of my own driveway, i hobbled the bloody mess that remained of my dignity back inside, cleaned my wounds and locked myself in my room all day.

sigh. to be young again...