I had a huge tantrum the first time I was left at my Mexican baby-sitter's place. I was three years old.

I got used to being there, and learned to love my new environment. But whenever something is slightly unsatisfactory, I like to make that fact known as far and wide as I can.

These people—the ones I'm hanging out with now in the woods—took me in when I didn't have any family to speak of. I am much too casual about this fact. This may be due to having a strong personality. It could also be related to being an asshole, but I don't really want to think about that right now.

Fuck. First my nephews, then my cousins. And now my high-school crowd. Am I done now? Do I have enough family relations taken care of?

I shall go home and live in a cave. And the only person allowed in that cave will be my husband, and him only when it's the right time of month.

But I haven't snapped, or freaked out, or at any point been anything less than a lady.

That part certainly marks a departure from when I was twenty. And from when I was three.

Wish me luck, boys and girls: tomorrow evening, I cook dinner for fourteen. I'll be accepting Weed-O-Grams, if you can arrange 'em.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:08 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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