I learned something today, something very valuable. It's one of those things that no one can teach you, you learn it by watching and listening ...and remembering.
I had the chance to keep my granddaughter yesterday. Mom was sick and Dad was tired so MiMi stepped in. We did our usual snuggles and TV watching. We cooked Mimi's oatmeal exactly by Rilynne's directions. We mixed regular Coke with Diet Coke, and we ate the crust off the chicken pot pie, our usual routines.
I began to clean up and place the dirty utensils in the sink. Rilynne asked if she could wash the glasses. I hesitated because they were glass and she has successfully broken a crystal candy dish given to me by my grandmother. After careful consideration and a few moments of begging, I consented to the challenge and moved her stool to the front of the sink.
As she stood there with her hands in soapy water and her sleeves soaking, I realized that THAT is what being a grandmother is all about. I was letting her explore places that her parents would be afraid to chance. I know because I have been there with my own children. There was always too much to do... Cleaning, cooking, running the family. Back then, a child standing at the sink having fun washing dishes would have meant yet another mess to clean up.
I watched as she discovered the joy in helping, in feeling valuable, in finding her place in the family. I could not help but think of my own grandmother. She had so much love to give. Even when she had no money to give us grandkids, she let us make memories. There were no princess costumes when I was little, but my grandmother let us girls dress up in her lingerie. We would put on her slips, her costume jewelry and her high heels. Our outfits looked as well as any gown a Fairy godmother could conger.
We built forts and hideouts in her living room and played beauty shop from our perch on the back of the sofa. Our imaginations were without limits in her confines. I learned how to sew and cook and make pot holders, all under her guidance and supervision.
Some people have accused her of spoiling my boys as well. She did sneak money to them on occasion. But more importantly, she let them be boys. They climbed in her pair trees, they made camps in her hedges, they cut paths through her fields with the machetes she gave them. No mother would have bought a son a machete, but Mama did.
Yes, I was very close to my grandmother, mainly because we had developed a relationship through the years, she let me be me. She encouraged me, she supported me, she loved me. What more could I ask of a grandmother.
I learned yesterday that being a grandparent is about taking a risk. Its about letting a child discover new things and take chances. It's about being there to encourage and nurture, even if things get broken along the way. It's about loving unconditionally. I hope and pray that I can be a good grandparent.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Friday, October 14, 2011
Getting Older
Getting Older
It’s not that I mind getting older; it’s just that I don’t see myself as aging. Sometimes I pass a mirror and wonder who that image is staring back at me. I was supposed to slow down and enjoy my forties and fifties. I wanted to travel, but now I just hope I can continue walking a bit longer. My knees are worn out and I hurt more in the morning when I get up than I do when I go to bed, but I still think of myself as that child of the 60’s and 70’s who grew up in one of the most turbulent but exciting times in history.
I do, however, get a little concerned when my family thinks I might be getting forgetful. Last week I misplaced my cell phone. After a long day, I hurried home to check the house. I had briefly scanned my room at school and since it was not in my purse, I had assumed I had left it at home. After a good hour of searching, I had found nothing.
My youngest son who is in nursing school joined me in my quest. He turned over couch cushions, searched the basement, even cleaned out my car-- still no phone. He reluctantly recalled that I had lost a drivers license and a set of keys recently. He even went one step further to suggest I have a brain MRI at my next checkup.
I spent the rest of the night reflecting on the situation. Did I have a history of dementia in my family? My grandfather had memory loss but he was 90. My mother had memory loss but she also had oxygen deprivation from smoking. Did I need to schedule a procedure ASAP? I spent the better part of my night contemplating.
After being dropped off at school by my husband since my son had to borrow my car, I entered my classroom. As I began to unpack my bookbag, I shifted a stack of ungraded papers. Underneath was my missing smart phone. A sense of relief enveloped me.
Now I am not saying that I do not need to watch my memory. I think scientists say we lose about 2% of our grey matter each year. I try to keep my mind sharp by playing scrabble and grading papers. I may lose my hair but hopefully not my mind after contending with 140 fifth graders each day. It could be that I need to have some tests or it could just be that I am a teacher, mother, wife, cook, laundress, tutor, grocery shopper, accountant, tax woman, chauffeur, therapist, interventionist, nursemaid, and friend. Regardless, I now have my cell phone.
It’s not that I mind getting older; it’s just that I don’t see myself as aging. Sometimes I pass a mirror and wonder who that image is staring back at me. I was supposed to slow down and enjoy my forties and fifties. I wanted to travel, but now I just hope I can continue walking a bit longer. My knees are worn out and I hurt more in the morning when I get up than I do when I go to bed, but I still think of myself as that child of the 60’s and 70’s who grew up in one of the most turbulent but exciting times in history.
I do, however, get a little concerned when my family thinks I might be getting forgetful. Last week I misplaced my cell phone. After a long day, I hurried home to check the house. I had briefly scanned my room at school and since it was not in my purse, I had assumed I had left it at home. After a good hour of searching, I had found nothing.
My youngest son who is in nursing school joined me in my quest. He turned over couch cushions, searched the basement, even cleaned out my car-- still no phone. He reluctantly recalled that I had lost a drivers license and a set of keys recently. He even went one step further to suggest I have a brain MRI at my next checkup.
I spent the rest of the night reflecting on the situation. Did I have a history of dementia in my family? My grandfather had memory loss but he was 90. My mother had memory loss but she also had oxygen deprivation from smoking. Did I need to schedule a procedure ASAP? I spent the better part of my night contemplating.
After being dropped off at school by my husband since my son had to borrow my car, I entered my classroom. As I began to unpack my bookbag, I shifted a stack of ungraded papers. Underneath was my missing smart phone. A sense of relief enveloped me.
Now I am not saying that I do not need to watch my memory. I think scientists say we lose about 2% of our grey matter each year. I try to keep my mind sharp by playing scrabble and grading papers. I may lose my hair but hopefully not my mind after contending with 140 fifth graders each day. It could be that I need to have some tests or it could just be that I am a teacher, mother, wife, cook, laundress, tutor, grocery shopper, accountant, tax woman, chauffeur, therapist, interventionist, nursemaid, and friend. Regardless, I now have my cell phone.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Galleria Trip
When raising three boys on one Income, it is sometimes a challenge to find fun and inexpensive ways to entertain them. The opening of the Galleria in the mid-80's seemed like the perfect opportunity, so my grandmother and I loaded up the boys and headed to Hoover. Brad was still in a stroller, so Matt and Jeffrey must have been 3and 6. I should have taken their excitement as a warning of what was to come, but out of sheer boredom it seemed like a great way to pass the day. Maybe they had never heard the word Galleria before and assumed we were going to an amusement park, but their zeal for a shopping trip seemed a little out of the ordinary for boys. They were bouncing in their seats with the 35 mile road trip.
After securing Brad in the stroller and loading up with our snacks and such, we headed in. I told them to stay right by my side since this was opening week and the crowds were unbelievable. I guess we were not the only ones who had never been to a Galleria.
I must admit that I was impressed, too. It was the biggest shopping mall that I had ever seen. We entered on the first level and made our way to the food court. The huge open space and the massive skylights were impressive, as was the carousel in the middle which also added to the fair-like atmosphere.
My boys were already over stimulated when they spotted the glass elevator. I could hardly control their enthusiasm; they wanted to ride in the worst way. We made our way to the line, but had to wait on the second trip which only added to their anxiety. When the doors opened the people in front of us boarded after those leaving had exited. Not to miss the chance to look out the glass, Matt and Jeff pushed their way to the front windows. They were pulling on each other afraid that one would get a better spot than his brother. I was trying to control their actions but I was not doing a very good job. They were in a scuffle when I noticed a lady with a baby in a stroller protecting her child with her body. I reached through the crowd and in an effort to control, I pinched Jeffrey's arm. To my embarrassment, he yells, "she's pinching my arm!" suddenly all eyes were on me. I can't believe so much commotion can take place in a 30 second elevator ride.
We rode back down and made our way to the main corridor which housed the larger stores. Jeffrey spotted something ahead and started running. I left Mama with the other 2 boys and took off after him. He was ahead of me by only 10 feet but it was enough time for him to push the unguarded Red STOP button on the escalator. I got there just in time to feel the hundred pairs of eyes staring down at me. My first reaction was to give Jeffrey several swats on his bottom to at least let people know that I did have some control. When I looked up they were still staring. I had to “shoo” them like chickens to get them to move. I guess they wanted me to start it up again, but I couldn't without a key. I am not making excuses, but why would a red stop button be exposed right at eye level for a three year old?
With enough excitement for one day, we packed it up and headed home. Thank goodness for small favors, all three boys were sound asleep before we had reached the Interstate. I decided right then to forego the long trip to Hoover. I would just take my chances with the fountain at Century Plaza.
Carol Hobby
June 15, 2011
After securing Brad in the stroller and loading up with our snacks and such, we headed in. I told them to stay right by my side since this was opening week and the crowds were unbelievable. I guess we were not the only ones who had never been to a Galleria.
I must admit that I was impressed, too. It was the biggest shopping mall that I had ever seen. We entered on the first level and made our way to the food court. The huge open space and the massive skylights were impressive, as was the carousel in the middle which also added to the fair-like atmosphere.
My boys were already over stimulated when they spotted the glass elevator. I could hardly control their enthusiasm; they wanted to ride in the worst way. We made our way to the line, but had to wait on the second trip which only added to their anxiety. When the doors opened the people in front of us boarded after those leaving had exited. Not to miss the chance to look out the glass, Matt and Jeff pushed their way to the front windows. They were pulling on each other afraid that one would get a better spot than his brother. I was trying to control their actions but I was not doing a very good job. They were in a scuffle when I noticed a lady with a baby in a stroller protecting her child with her body. I reached through the crowd and in an effort to control, I pinched Jeffrey's arm. To my embarrassment, he yells, "she's pinching my arm!" suddenly all eyes were on me. I can't believe so much commotion can take place in a 30 second elevator ride.
We rode back down and made our way to the main corridor which housed the larger stores. Jeffrey spotted something ahead and started running. I left Mama with the other 2 boys and took off after him. He was ahead of me by only 10 feet but it was enough time for him to push the unguarded Red STOP button on the escalator. I got there just in time to feel the hundred pairs of eyes staring down at me. My first reaction was to give Jeffrey several swats on his bottom to at least let people know that I did have some control. When I looked up they were still staring. I had to “shoo” them like chickens to get them to move. I guess they wanted me to start it up again, but I couldn't without a key. I am not making excuses, but why would a red stop button be exposed right at eye level for a three year old?
With enough excitement for one day, we packed it up and headed home. Thank goodness for small favors, all three boys were sound asleep before we had reached the Interstate. I decided right then to forego the long trip to Hoover. I would just take my chances with the fountain at Century Plaza.
Carol Hobby
June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Words from My Boys
Boy words
My boys have always loved words. They all spoke at an early age, much earlier than they walked. I guess I should not have been surprised when they picked up language of which I did not approve.
Once I had taken Matt to a community meeting at the Clay gymnasium. With standing room only, I found a safe spot and sat Matt on the ground next to me. While I was busy listening to the speaker, Matt was searching the floor. The soft spongy material of the floor made it the perfect tablet for an angry sixth grader to express his feeling about school. Matt had found an unfamiliar word which he decoded phonetically and asked me what it meant. After explaining to the shocked crowd that he was just learning to read, I gave him the quiet sign of a hand over his mouth.
Jeffrey was also precocious about words. He was almost expelled from 3 year old kindergarten for saying "dammit." Instead of washing his mouth out with soap, Mrs. Plummer and I decided to use Listerine. One smell and the offensive habit was miraculously controlled. Years later we found solid proof of his extended vocabulary while reviewing a tape of Matt's 6th birthday party. Amid all the joy and celebration focused on Matt was a cute disgruntled blond-headed boy standing by the table singing "Happy Birthday to Dammit."
Brad had his share of word stories, too. He loved to sing along with the radio. I have joked and said that my boys did not know there was any other music but "oldie goodies" until they became teenagers because that is all I played. Brad knew the tunes if not the lyrics because he joined in with a hum and a few words of Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Down on the Corner." The shock came at the chorus when he had misunderstood the words and sang "and the n----rs are at the beach." We weren't racists but he had picked the word up somewhere.
But my favorite word story involved Matt and Jeff. Brad was not even on the way so Matt had to be about 4 and Jeffrey not even 2, just learning to talk. One Sunday after church Matt came running from the nursery toward Joe and Me while we were talking to Grant, our preacher. His exact words were, "Dad, Jeff has done it now. He has said the f-word."
Joe and I both knew the time was coming but not at age 2. I looked at Joe and
assured him that Jeff didn't know the f- word. Matt kept insisting. Very calmly Joe took Matt over to a corner and asked him to whisper in his ear just what Jeff had said. In a faint whisper, Matt said," Fart."
I guess every parent stresses over the possibility of an
embarrassing word moment with a child. It is not so much a reflection of our
parenting skills as it is a reflection of the culture. I just wish I could have kept my boys innocent a bit longer.
Carol Hobby
June 11, 2011
My boys have always loved words. They all spoke at an early age, much earlier than they walked. I guess I should not have been surprised when they picked up language of which I did not approve.
Once I had taken Matt to a community meeting at the Clay gymnasium. With standing room only, I found a safe spot and sat Matt on the ground next to me. While I was busy listening to the speaker, Matt was searching the floor. The soft spongy material of the floor made it the perfect tablet for an angry sixth grader to express his feeling about school. Matt had found an unfamiliar word which he decoded phonetically and asked me what it meant. After explaining to the shocked crowd that he was just learning to read, I gave him the quiet sign of a hand over his mouth.
Jeffrey was also precocious about words. He was almost expelled from 3 year old kindergarten for saying "dammit." Instead of washing his mouth out with soap, Mrs. Plummer and I decided to use Listerine. One smell and the offensive habit was miraculously controlled. Years later we found solid proof of his extended vocabulary while reviewing a tape of Matt's 6th birthday party. Amid all the joy and celebration focused on Matt was a cute disgruntled blond-headed boy standing by the table singing "Happy Birthday to Dammit."
Brad had his share of word stories, too. He loved to sing along with the radio. I have joked and said that my boys did not know there was any other music but "oldie goodies" until they became teenagers because that is all I played. Brad knew the tunes if not the lyrics because he joined in with a hum and a few words of Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Down on the Corner." The shock came at the chorus when he had misunderstood the words and sang "and the n----rs are at the beach." We weren't racists but he had picked the word up somewhere.
But my favorite word story involved Matt and Jeff. Brad was not even on the way so Matt had to be about 4 and Jeffrey not even 2, just learning to talk. One Sunday after church Matt came running from the nursery toward Joe and Me while we were talking to Grant, our preacher. His exact words were, "Dad, Jeff has done it now. He has said the f-word."
Joe and I both knew the time was coming but not at age 2. I looked at Joe and
assured him that Jeff didn't know the f- word. Matt kept insisting. Very calmly Joe took Matt over to a corner and asked him to whisper in his ear just what Jeff had said. In a faint whisper, Matt said," Fart."
I guess every parent stresses over the possibility of an
embarrassing word moment with a child. It is not so much a reflection of our
parenting skills as it is a reflection of the culture. I just wish I could have kept my boys innocent a bit longer.
Carol Hobby
June 11, 2011
The Horse
Long before cell phones, Nintendo’s, and the Internet, we children had to find ways to pass the time in a more creative, self-discovering way. We played outside, built hideouts, had imaginary battles, and explored the woods. Occasionally, we were given the opportunity to experience a real adventure.
My Uncle was notorious for bringing home objects that my grandmother had to take care of. My favorite was a horse named Bandit that we kept in our fenced back yard because he kept getting out of the pasture. Bandit was at least saddle-broken so we could ride him. He had thrown me which made me a little pony-shy, but not my friend Nancy. Maybe it was just a Knighton trait, but Nancy had a streak of dare-devil in her and she could be a bit stubborn. She loved a challenge. That is probably why she got her doctorate in pharmacology and runs a successful business of her own. Anyway, she never missed a chance to ride Bandit or any other horse.
On one particular afternoon during our riding escapades, Douglas Price showed up with his Tennessee Walker. Now his horse stood much taller than Bandit. I am not sure how many hands, but he was a BIG horse. Nancy took his offer to ride him as another challenge. She took to the saddle but found the horse to be the stubborn one at this point. In my efforts to help, I broke of a small switch and gave the horse just a little tap with it.
The horse must have been scared of switches since he took off at top speed before I could even give a second swat. All I remember seeing was Nancy’s legs perpendicular to the horse. She was not in the saddle. She appeared to be hovering over it.
Back then there was very little traffic on Old Springville Road, thank goodness. That was exactly where the horse was heading. In fact he was heading home to the Price farm about two miles away. I remember being in a state of shock and hearing Nancy’s screams as she topped the hill headed to Clay proper.
Now my Uncle Woodrow Chandler was custodian at Clay Elementary about a mile away on Old Springville. He could hear Nancy screaming and knew there was something wrong. He and another man were able to stop the horse as it passed the school. He said Nancy was only holding on to the saddle horn. The rest of her body was flying in the air.
I guess Nancy forgave me for the incident because we have remained friends for years. And I don’t think it stopped her from riding either, since she now lives on a “ranch” outside Montgomery.
Carol Hobby
June 2011
My Uncle was notorious for bringing home objects that my grandmother had to take care of. My favorite was a horse named Bandit that we kept in our fenced back yard because he kept getting out of the pasture. Bandit was at least saddle-broken so we could ride him. He had thrown me which made me a little pony-shy, but not my friend Nancy. Maybe it was just a Knighton trait, but Nancy had a streak of dare-devil in her and she could be a bit stubborn. She loved a challenge. That is probably why she got her doctorate in pharmacology and runs a successful business of her own. Anyway, she never missed a chance to ride Bandit or any other horse.
On one particular afternoon during our riding escapades, Douglas Price showed up with his Tennessee Walker. Now his horse stood much taller than Bandit. I am not sure how many hands, but he was a BIG horse. Nancy took his offer to ride him as another challenge. She took to the saddle but found the horse to be the stubborn one at this point. In my efforts to help, I broke of a small switch and gave the horse just a little tap with it.
The horse must have been scared of switches since he took off at top speed before I could even give a second swat. All I remember seeing was Nancy’s legs perpendicular to the horse. She was not in the saddle. She appeared to be hovering over it.
Back then there was very little traffic on Old Springville Road, thank goodness. That was exactly where the horse was heading. In fact he was heading home to the Price farm about two miles away. I remember being in a state of shock and hearing Nancy’s screams as she topped the hill headed to Clay proper.
Now my Uncle Woodrow Chandler was custodian at Clay Elementary about a mile away on Old Springville. He could hear Nancy screaming and knew there was something wrong. He and another man were able to stop the horse as it passed the school. He said Nancy was only holding on to the saddle horn. The rest of her body was flying in the air.
I guess Nancy forgave me for the incident because we have remained friends for years. And I don’t think it stopped her from riding either, since she now lives on a “ranch” outside Montgomery.
Carol Hobby
June 2011
My First Story on my Blog
The Pep Rally
The football season of my freshman year at the University of Alabama was one for the record books. Bear Bryant had made his comeback, we were undefeated heading to a possible National Championship game with Texas when….Auburn blocked some punts and beat us 17-16 in the last game of the season. We headed back to Tuscaloosa to face reality and finals.
In 1972 there were not as many government regulations on safety. You could still smoke in elevators, ride without seat belts, and sit in an open window on the 11th floor of Tutwiler Hall. That is where it all started.
The week after the Alabama Auburn game some fans from the Plains drove through the parking lot at Tutwiler and yelled “War Eagle. “ The Crimson White paper blamed it on pre-exam tension, but those who were a part of the history know better. It started with a few words from my friends and roommates, Diane, Janis, and Belita. They yelled back at the perpetrators which ignited a reaction from the whole dorm. Within minutes, Tutwiler was of control. Girls were yelling and throwing things from the window. The Resident Assistants were trying hard to quiet the noise and even locate the instigators, but we were smarter and had them outnumbered. Someone kept guard and when an RA appeared we were as calm as ever. Finally, some brave soul pulled the fire alarm and everyone had to evacuate.
Now I had been innocently studying at the library. I came in just in time to hear the commotion outside. I got to the room and received a quick update just before the fire alarm rang. Outside Janis, Belita, and Diane were encouraging everyone to go to Bryant Hall for a Pep Rally. The crowd began to get excited and move in that direction when I realized I could never make it without emptying my bladder. I ran inside for just a few, but when I came back out my roommates were gone. I was down to one friend now and Sherry and I took off trying to catch up with the other girls.
We got about to the red light at the Corner bookstore, when someone yelled for us to jump on the back of this pickup truck that was apparently headed to Bryant Hall. Sherry got on and was in the process of helping me when the light turned green and the pickup took off. I was not in enough to hang on so I fell off and landed flat on the pavement. Cars were honking for me to get out of the way, so I picked myself up and started running in the direction of the athletic dorm, determined not to miss out on what my roommates had started.
My determination must have made me run with excessive speed because I passed almost everyone on the path. When I could see the Hall I could tell that Janis, Belita, and Diane were leading the crowds. They must have been standing on some wall because I could see their heads above the others. Not to be outdone, I pushed myself through the crowd and joined them in the front row leading the cheers. It was AWESOME! The football team could not help but be encourage by our spontaneous actions and the endless cheers of “Roll Tide Roll.” After a few minutes and some proper “thank you”s from the team, we dismissed and headed back to Tutwiler.
It was on the way back that I began to feel pain. I guess my adrenaline had kept me going, because I ached in several places now. Back at the dorm we were able to make a most embarrassing observation. Apparently when I fell off the truck I did not fall straight down. I must have skidded because every part of my body that stuck out was skinned- - my nose, my chin, my stomach, my knees, and most embarrassingly, my boobs. On the front of my shirt were two black track marks in the most obvious of places. We all laughed uncontrollable when we realized that I had led the Pep Rally with what looked like two bulls eyes on the front of my blouse. It was just the price I paid for living with some super roommates.
Carol Hobby
June 14, 2011
The football season of my freshman year at the University of Alabama was one for the record books. Bear Bryant had made his comeback, we were undefeated heading to a possible National Championship game with Texas when….Auburn blocked some punts and beat us 17-16 in the last game of the season. We headed back to Tuscaloosa to face reality and finals.
In 1972 there were not as many government regulations on safety. You could still smoke in elevators, ride without seat belts, and sit in an open window on the 11th floor of Tutwiler Hall. That is where it all started.
The week after the Alabama Auburn game some fans from the Plains drove through the parking lot at Tutwiler and yelled “War Eagle. “ The Crimson White paper blamed it on pre-exam tension, but those who were a part of the history know better. It started with a few words from my friends and roommates, Diane, Janis, and Belita. They yelled back at the perpetrators which ignited a reaction from the whole dorm. Within minutes, Tutwiler was of control. Girls were yelling and throwing things from the window. The Resident Assistants were trying hard to quiet the noise and even locate the instigators, but we were smarter and had them outnumbered. Someone kept guard and when an RA appeared we were as calm as ever. Finally, some brave soul pulled the fire alarm and everyone had to evacuate.
Now I had been innocently studying at the library. I came in just in time to hear the commotion outside. I got to the room and received a quick update just before the fire alarm rang. Outside Janis, Belita, and Diane were encouraging everyone to go to Bryant Hall for a Pep Rally. The crowd began to get excited and move in that direction when I realized I could never make it without emptying my bladder. I ran inside for just a few, but when I came back out my roommates were gone. I was down to one friend now and Sherry and I took off trying to catch up with the other girls.
We got about to the red light at the Corner bookstore, when someone yelled for us to jump on the back of this pickup truck that was apparently headed to Bryant Hall. Sherry got on and was in the process of helping me when the light turned green and the pickup took off. I was not in enough to hang on so I fell off and landed flat on the pavement. Cars were honking for me to get out of the way, so I picked myself up and started running in the direction of the athletic dorm, determined not to miss out on what my roommates had started.
My determination must have made me run with excessive speed because I passed almost everyone on the path. When I could see the Hall I could tell that Janis, Belita, and Diane were leading the crowds. They must have been standing on some wall because I could see their heads above the others. Not to be outdone, I pushed myself through the crowd and joined them in the front row leading the cheers. It was AWESOME! The football team could not help but be encourage by our spontaneous actions and the endless cheers of “Roll Tide Roll.” After a few minutes and some proper “thank you”s from the team, we dismissed and headed back to Tutwiler.
It was on the way back that I began to feel pain. I guess my adrenaline had kept me going, because I ached in several places now. Back at the dorm we were able to make a most embarrassing observation. Apparently when I fell off the truck I did not fall straight down. I must have skidded because every part of my body that stuck out was skinned- - my nose, my chin, my stomach, my knees, and most embarrassingly, my boobs. On the front of my shirt were two black track marks in the most obvious of places. We all laughed uncontrollable when we realized that I had led the Pep Rally with what looked like two bulls eyes on the front of my blouse. It was just the price I paid for living with some super roommates.
Carol Hobby
June 14, 2011
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