Running down hills

When I was seven years old, in the second grade of Ms. Jaber's class, I used to run from the boys at recess. Everyone from Prairie Grove knows that at the Lower Elementary, on the playground, there was this long deep hill that everyone would run down. All the girls would spend most of their time being chased by the boys down this hill. Or jumping on the black slats of rubber on the south side of the playground, kiss boys and get married under the yellow tire by the swing sets, burn their bottoms on the metal sheet of a slide, or the merry go round that I think you had to be in the third grade to ride or operate. But even in my seven year old, second grade self, I was a problem solver. Yes, an opportunist of calculations. I had figured it out. If you stopped running before everyone went down the hill, the boys wouldn't chase you, or "get" you, or whatever reason we were running our lungs out away from them. I would just stop, and the boys would run on past. Brilliant. I had solved the problem, and told all of my girl friends- hey! I got it! If you stop running, the boys don't chase you. To which I was informed that you WANTED boys to chase you.
Oh.
That was news to me.
I had no clue.



I guess I still have no clue.
I don't remember the last time I drank.
I don't remember the last time I went out.
I have been working on Christmas cards for the past 6 days and that includes both the past Friday and Saturday nights at home in my Harley Davidson pajamas hot gluing paper together. At home as in I am 24 and still live with my parents. And our 10 cats.
Yes, 10.
And did I mention that I don't think I ever want to get married because I'm terrified of commitment and divorce?


Maybe I need to start running down hills again......

~Amber