You turn to see what has made him gasp.
Do you laugh? Or do you shriek, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
I laughed.
One of my very fondest childhood memories is of the time I visited my friend Melissa. She was the fastest girl in my class, I was the second-fastest. Almost every day at recess, we'd race to the swings at the other end of the playground and swing together. Once I got to spend the night at her house. I think we were both about 8 or 9. We got bored with Barbies and decided to play outside.
There it was, just across the highway: A construction site.
Nothing but mud.
We crossed the highway. (We looked both ways first, Mom. You would have been proud. Heh heh. Sorta.) We played in the mud, a little tentatively at first, squishing our feet in, picking up little handfuls and tossing them a few feet away. Pretty soon we were rolling down mud hills and having a mud fight. Mud in our clothes, in our hair, in our ears, our toes.
It was fabulous. It was worth all of the trouble we got into when we got back to Melissa's house. Her mom scolded the whole time we undressed and bathed. I've always felt a little guilty because her mom didn't get quite as upset with me since I was a guest. Oh well. Melissa thought it was worth it too.
I wonder if she still remembers?
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