Age 3: the famous chocolate syrup incident. Too humiliating to rehash.
Age 3: smeared Beth's lotion all over the carpet and blamed a visiting cousin. Don't remember if I was caught.
Age 4: got a bunch of boys to play with me in the forbidden supply closet in preschool. They were caught. I got out of punishment because I confessed. Was more careful the next time.
Age 5: stuck a Barbie in the microwave when Mom was outside to see what would happen. Nothing happened. Decided that Barbies were stupid.
Age 5: accidentally killed one of my brother's fish pretending it was a piranha. Never admitted it. (This was NOT the one found behind his dresser; I take no responsibility for that.)
Age 6: guilted a friend into giving me a blood vow never to tell that I cut a section of my hair (on the underside, so Mom never found it). Only she refused to prick herself, so I let her use a red marker. Which was stolen from Beth. Triple play.
Age 6: broke one of those glass toy plates when I took it outside without permission. Got a friend to help me bury it in his garden. Might well have cut up his family with the shards.
Age 7: convinced the whole first grade that I was really an Indian. Gave one kid false hope that his skin could turn white like mine did. Let them forget it when my friend wanted to ask my mom which tribe we were from. Though I did keep some baby pictures under my mattress for a year, just in case the friend remembered and decided to check my scrapbook.
I'll leave it there. That's quite enough for one post--and besides, I'm nearing the age of actual responsibility. Shudder.
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