When I was three, I remember a Steinway baby grand piano in the living room my mother used to play. It was a beautiful piano. This is where the trouble started.
Mom's first mistake was leaving me beside her, on the floor, with nothing to do. I toddled off and found my favorite, cuddly rag doll with the yellow yarn hair. I also found a box of wooden matches. The next thing I knew, I was in big trouble. Busy three year old girls, yellow-yarn-hair rag dolls, wooden matches, and baby grand pianos don't mix. I lit the doll's hair on fire, felt the heat, and managed to toss the hot, flaming-haired doll into the upright baby grand. I remember this well. My butt still hurts from the spanking I got.
It was the first of many spankings. I was usually in trouble due to my curious, adventuresome spirit. OR because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. OR because I got caught.
3 comments:
fire stories! love them! i think we're all arsonists to a certain degree. probably goes back to cavewomen demanding fires from the caveboys before sex or something.
i had my incident too. it involved misunderstanding the meaning of inflammable (i.e., "not flammable"). that was a good wooden spoon episode if i recall correctly.
Wow ...and I thought I was a dangerous kid!
Fire means toasted marshmallows and I love toasted 'mallows. It has nothing to do with cavemen, Bobby. Maybe some snuggling in front of the fireplace. But, definitely arson.
Randy, that's the beginning of many dangerous stunts I've pulled over the years. My parents turned gray early.
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