When I was in junior high and high school, I hated the boys who lived next door. There were three of them - one older, one in my grade (mom, you might get a kick out of this link. scroll down to the third picture), and one 2 years younger. The oldest one was nice. And the parents were nice. They should've stopped at one.
Those two boys tormented me for years. They toilet papered our house one year on mischief night. They kicked soccer balls into our yard. They took great pleasure in torturing me any way they could. I hated them. I really really hated them. Fortunately, I haven't seen any of them or really heard about any of them since I graduated from high school.
So imagine my disdain when I was working on the seating chart for last night and came across MY name paired with THEIR last name. It sucked me into some alternate reality... and it was an ugly place.
**shudder**
1 comment:
I actually hated all three of them! It was so bizarre to me that those normal-seeming parents could have such awful monsters. The oldest, the one you DIDN'T hate, was the one who followed one of my basket customers for about 2 miles. Beeping his horn, shaking his fist and flipping her the finger out of his open window. But he followed her beeping continuously all the way home! Imagine his surprise when his road rage victim stopped at the house before his! LOL She told his mother, and he lost his driving rights for 3 months or something! My other "dear" memory of them is when they ambushed you and Lynne and Ilana in the back yard while you were playing in the snow. OH! And remember them hitting the fence for hours on end with a ball?
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