Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen


As those of you who read novel_gazing already know, my folks brought missista home last night. She was mostly extremely good and glad to see us, but she threw a puppy tantrum when put to bed last night. Ah well; we'll settle in. And they say they can take her again whenever we want or need them to, so that's a good thing. I'm working on this whole "asking for help" thing. It's not always easy, but it seems to be generally worth it.

I'm still hip-deep in questions from the sleep-dep night on the 3rd: you people certainly can question! So here's another: someone asked what my favorite part of the playground was when I was little. Well, our playground had been constructed by the people in the neighborhood working together, so there was a giant wooden structure, mostly smoothed so as not to produce splinters. There was stuff to climb and a log bridge and a swinging balance log, and there were, oh, tire swings.

I loved tire swings.

In fact, I'm not at all sure the past tense is appropriate here. I haven't tried recently, but I suspect that if you loaded me on a tire swing today and spun it and pushed it, I would really enjoy myself. I have always liked spinny things, and spinny swoopy things are even better, and nothing beats a tire swing for that. The ones that hang so that the tire is parallel to the ground are the best, but the orthogonal ones will do in a pinch.

We also had monkeybars, which I liked even though my shoulders pop out at the drop of a hat, and I enjoyed the tornado slide and swings, and I used the merry-go-round for my own nefarious purposes. See...I liked spinny things, as I said, and I have always had a stomach of cast iron. And my dad liked to go play tennis and let me and my friends play on the playground sometimes, and then on the way home we would get an ice cream cone. So whenever a particular one of the other little girls I played with was a bully (which was often), I would angle to get taken to the playground, and then after Dad was done with his tennis game I would jump on the merry-go-round: "Push me, Daddy, push me!" Well, this other little girl was very keen on being almost a full year older than me and not letting me do anything she wouldn't do. So she would hop on, too. And I would laugh and throw my head back and say, "Faster, Daddy, faster!" And she wouldn't get off, because if I could take it, so could she. Except she couldn't: she would get off and throw up. And then Dad would take her home before the rest of us got our ice cream, because clearly her stomach was upset and she wouldn't enjoy it. And I would smile as we drove away from her house for our ice cream. Revenge is even sweeter when you can claim that your hands are clean.

I was...four years old, I think? markgritter claims that I was an evil, evil child. But my take on the subject is, she shouldn't have hit me. I'd been taught not to hit back, but nobody ever thought to teach me not to exploit other people's character flaws. I am, to this day, totally unrepentant.
Tags: at least you can shop there, poodular supervision, social fail

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