August 05, 2006
And Then There's the Nine-Year-Old.
He has a lot of energy, and talks very fast. He's very good at ducking when I point the camera in his direction. Early on, he decides he wants me to give him wine, which I won't do. "It isn't up to me," I explain. When he attempts to sneak a sip from my wine glass I gently take it back and tell him softly to get in touch with me when he's 16.
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"Why?" he asks.
"No reason," I reply. "And I didn't say that, either."
Posted by: Attila Girl at
01:07 AM
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Funny thing is, when I was about eight I was pestering my father heavily to get me a beer when he got one, for they looked so good. At least I thought they did. He finally bought me one, then made me drink the whole can, which, after one sip I knew was a mistake. To this day, I still don't really like - or drink- beer. My mother had a great saying, "leave hers in the horse". She didn't like it either. HAHAH. Hmmm.
Posted by: clyde at August 05, 2006 03:09 AM (6m+7s)
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I flat out ruined my taste for cigarettes at about age 8, when I surreptitiously swiped a still-smouldering butt from where my Dad had flicked it, and spirited it off for a draw.
My head nearly exploded, and it was all I could do to keep from giving myself away, while I raced off to wash out my mouth.
Posted by: Desert Cat at August 05, 2006 06:49 PM (xdX36)
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