Back to the days of 3rd grade. Where I felt, I was becoming, as my mama put it, “Little Miss Know It All,” in Capital letters. I took it as a compliment. The radio alarm buzzed. I hit the snooze button for the fifth time. My school clothes weren’t the neatest for a few reasons.
One, I was lazy. Two, I hated the iron with a sincere passion. Three, the iron and I have never really been good friends. I think that iron had it out for me. Just as much as I could never figure out the spout and pressure quite right. I mean- tell that to my good leg, with the burn-mark on my right knee! Humph, I rolled my eyes and walked past that evil metal-thing.
Since we didn’t own a washer and dryer. We took our clothes to the laundromat on most weekends. However, today is not Friday nor Monday. Its’ Camel lost its hump-back stupid Wednesday. I took in a deep breath and bubbled out as many spit balls as I could. Before my big haired sister Colleen, threatened to sell my baby rabbit Honey to our neighbors.
In that case, I replied, “Colleen you wouldn’t dare! Which she added “watch me” and she stuck out her cherry red tongue. After that, little spat with my sister I had to get on with it.
So did what most eight year old dreamers do. I got out, my always there when I need’em. When my hair is so crazy. Or I played too long in my grandpa’s ole’ beat up shed. Same thing, I used to spot checked my legs for fleas. Using my handy, dandy, hairdryer. My hair dryer should of been renamed superhero for all girls.
I blew out as many wrinkles as I could, in my pleated flannel skirt and dark green top.
I even made it to school on time. Read to the class. Mr. Luna sent me. Everything seemed to be fine. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I walked down the hall for lunch. I grabbed a tray of Chicken fried steak and mash-potatoes with cold peas and sat down.
That’s when Christopher Jones, tried to warn me. Some kids are daring each other in the Cafeteria. I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah, nothing to freak out about.” Just as I uttered those very words, I heard a kid named Tommy yell “f-o-o-d fight!”
By the time, I put my fork in my mash potatoes. Scooped up one bite. I had to duck for cover. Think fast Krissy, under the table I went. Boy! O’h boy, did I pray. Please oh’ please, don’t hit me. That’s when I felt the cold ooze of chocolate milk smack into the back of my head. Drip down into my back.
No use hiding. Food was flying left and right. Mash potatoes, cold peas, chocolate milk. My dark green shirt was covered in sticky-icky milk.
Everything seemed to be going down in slow motion. I stood up very slowly. The milk crawled its way down into my shoe. My hands went into tree pose. I limped slowly out of the lunch room. Down the hall to girl’s bathroom. To see if any amount of toilet paper and hand soap would salvage what was left, of my Camel lost its’ Hump-back stupid Wednesday. Ugh! I should’ve brought my hair dyer.
kindness sister Krissy
P.S. I have lots more to share about trials and triumphs in 3rd grade. ( true stories from my childhood) As always, if you made it this far, from my soul to yours, thank you ( feel free to share any food fight days you’ve had)
I guess I am grateful I went to Catholic school…we were all too afraid of the nuns to start a food fight!
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hahahahaha, I know that’s right those nuns would not have stood for it… 🙂
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I can’t stop laughing .. imagining you as a third-grader, dripping with chocolate milk and dressed in a collage of all kinds of food. Do you have a class photo of the scene, Sis?
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hahahahaha, I wished I did. I had a blast sharing. Thank you so much Reverend. 🙂
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If everyone was in it, no one could get in trouble, right? Going home must not have been fun!
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yeah, no one was in trouble- I don’t think they ever found the boys who started it. LOL
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That food fight cracked me up!!!
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lol thank you so much Michelle 🙂
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Hahaha. Oh, thank you for the liking spree you did. It’s most appreciated indeed.
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most welcome 🙂
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Love hearing about your childhood memories Krissy
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aw, thank you so much Kat 🙂
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💖💖💖
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Schools are a scary place. Food fights should be lectured on. It really is a bad, disrespectful fun!
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oh yes, and that’s the truth, 🙂 🙂
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Food fights and hunger strikes are acts of taking goodness for granted.
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