OnCe An HoNoR, nOw a BaNe

I suppose if you know me very well (which I assume you do if you're bothering to read my blog) you'll know I can be something of a smart allick. I'd dare say that when I was younger I didn't ever get in trouble for DOING things but more for being really cheeky. This characteristic has definately become more filtered but...I have fun where I can.

Well, it's Friday and I REALLY don't feel like editing uber boring stuff. I was attempting to do my job (concentrate....CONCENTRATE) when my coworkers phone rang really, really loudly. So I scream from my office for all to hear "I'll get it!" Those down the hall were probably really confused but my coworkers next to me starting chuckling. I mean come on, you ALL remember doing that?!

It also sparked memories of things I used to LOVE doing, nay coveted doing, in my childhood that if I now have to do, always begin with an internal groan. For example, I remember when my older brothers used to mow the lawn I would BEG for a go. Just one little line... how about two? Now, if it's my turn: "oh, it rained 2 days ago, the grass is wet." One of the bonuses of my new house is that our landlord does the mowing. Hurrah! Second, and akin to answering the phone: getting the doorbell. I think my brothers and I would battle who could slip and slide across our tile floors or up the stairs faster to get the door. Body slamming was inevitably involved, guaranteed. Now if the doorbell rings, I pray someone else will get it. Another example? How about getting the mail. Whoever got home from school first would smugly get the mail (why, it's not like it was ever for us), yet now... my roommates can attest my slot goes unlooked at for over a week on a regular basis. JCrew catalogs and receipts can wait.

However, one thing from my childhood remains worth fighting for: shot gun.