I'm coming to realize something about me that is probably only a surprise to myself- I am not and probably never did resemble the Beaver. I am Eddie Haskell, through and through. Where I ever got the notion that I was some line-toeing goody-goody escapes me now, though in all fairness I did say things like "golly" and "horsefeathers" until I was about 13. Okay, so I still say "horsefeathers". The point I'm sluggishly establishing is that my character, like that of our own dear nation, has upon close examination always been questionable.
A timeline for your perusal:
Birth to Three Years Old- I poop with abandon, wherever and whenever it pleases me. I do not clean it up.
Four Years Old- I make out with my aunt Bonnie's dog, Junie.She quickly abandons the new relationship in favor of fresh cat poop. I find a snack in my nose.
Five Years Old- I instigate a hamster massacre by holding my hamster's newborn cubs in appreciation of life's miracles. My hamster eats her young while I scream. Later that year, I disagree with something my grandmother says and slap the glasses off her shocked face.
Six Years Old- My cousin Ashley entreats me to impregnate her through her belly button. We are unsuccessful.
Seven Years Old- I am sentenced to detention and a minor spanking for mooning someone on the playground. All involved struggle to keep a straight face while the sentences are carried out, save me.
Fast-forward to the present. At a crowded meeting celebrating milestones in sobriety, a woman's shoes catch my eye. They are sneakers with some sort of iridescent holographic pattern all over them. "I love your shoes" I say, to no response. "Miss, those are really kickass shoes" I reitirate as she turns around. "You have anal warts!" I exclaim, gaining the attention of everyone but my target. Doubling over laughing at myself, it hits me.
I was never the Beaver.
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