For Shame

Anyone who knows me knows that I have always had this thing where I insist on keeping up with my brothers. Whether it be chores, learning or plain old rough-housing I always demanded to be included and not be babied. Of course growing up this way resulted in many a mysterious bruise and countless black eyes. But hell if I'm not a tough cookie. Dresses just hindered my ability to climb trees, make adequate mud pies and play in the sandbox with my Tonka Trucks. I don't think I even knew what a Barbie was until my 8th birthday.

If something, other than snakes as they are ALWAYS the exception to any rule, terrified me, I would hold my breath, close my eyes and grin and bear it. There was no way I was going to be made fun of for "being girly." I'd rather die a thousand deaths. To this day, if you tell me I can't, I WILL prove you wrong. Just to say that I did and can. Perhaps that's why I wasn't such a hot commodity in high school... but I digress.

As I grew older I realized that there is a time and place for appopriate girliness. After all, not all boys like it when you show them up and much to my chagrin, sometimes it was nice being taken care of merely because I was the girl and the boy wanted to. That and well, why should I throw out my back when he can do it just fine? Even though I had this revelation, that I-can-do-it-just-you-watch sister was lurking just under the surface and would come stomping out depending upon my mood and well honestly, what guy I was around at the time. (Rick and Will ALWAYS bring out the crazy fembot in me but they know me so well they laugh and tell me not to be stupid and end up doing it anyway. Oddly enough, they get away with it.)

Yesterday, I was standing at the sliding glass door watching the bitches spoiled brats dogs doing their thing in the yard when I felt something fall on my head. I looked up thinking perhaps the vertical blinds were coming apart again. (That would of course, went perfectly with my malfunction laden evening.) I ran my hand over my hair and feeling nothing, went about my business yelling pleading calling the dogs inside.

And then something fell on my chest. Nothing heavy, but significant enough to feel it. I looked down...

HOLYSHITTHEREISASPIDERONMYBOOB!

It is with great sadnes and embarassment to report that I, Bernice, the tough cookie who can do just about anything she puts her mind to, screamed like a little girl, did the "icky dance" and brushed the spider to the floor in sich a motion you would think I was just set on fire.

I will wait while you contain your giggles...

Better?

Alright. Now that you have composed yourself...

Of course there would have to be someone there to witness such an act. I couldn't just be a dumb girl in private.... nooo! That would just be too perfect.

*sigh*

I think I will be able to let it go as I am quite entertained that Rick, the big bad big brother screamed like a little girl when we were admiring the spider cave at the zoo and I may or may not have grabbed his arm and rawred him and he screamed like a little girl. AND HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A SPIDER ON HIM! Yes, that will be my justification for such girly and wimpy reaction.

The first person to tell me one spider = lots of spiders gets an 8.5 to the rear.