I met a very nice woman at a dancing event and she had a son, about 6 years old.
We got chatting about nothing in particular and dancing garments in particular. The kid ran on and off from our table and suddenly he stopped still in his tracks and really stared at me, like a wild west cowboy movie character, one eye half closed:
"You are still here? Mommy likes guys like you. Now you will probably f*ck too."
And off he went.
We . got . dead . quiet .
As did the tables around us.
She looked panic stricken; fortunately I managed to turn it around by saying that for coming from the one that knows her best, I have to take it as a compliment.
We were living in a village, it was a rainy day and the streets were full of mud. My parents had a couple visiting and mom sent me to a neighbour down the street to bring something. I was probably 4 and thought to play "lady from the city" so I took the spiked heels boots of my mom's friend, they were outside, on the stairs. Fighting my way through the mud, I broke and lost one hill of the boots. I brought them back , washed them and arranged them so no one will notice. The screaming started when it was time for them to leave and noticed the missing hill.
According to my dad I was two, maybe three years old. He brought me to a company Christmas party and let me roam about as he chatted with a friend.
Apparently this was one of those parties where alcohol was allowed, and back in the day where smoking was just peachy. During one of my passes around the room I decided I was thursty and grabbed the beverage nearest me and walked off. A few minutes later I wondered into my dad and his friend slurping a luke warm Bud and grimacing.
We found the owner of the beer {who had drank from the cigarette beer can, then sprayed ash and butts everywhere}, gave him back his beer. Then we got a soda.
The embarassing part . . . he tells this story at least once a year to an audiance of friends, family, and whomevers.
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We got chatting about nothing in particular and dancing garments in particular. The kid ran on and off from our table and suddenly he stopped still in his tracks and really stared at me, like a wild west cowboy movie character, one eye half closed:
"You are still here? Mommy likes guys like you. Now you will probably f*ck too."
And off he went.
We . got . dead . quiet .
As did the tables around us.
She looked panic stricken; fortunately I managed to turn it around by saying that for coming from the one that knows her best, I have to take it as a compliment.
???
! = No, we never did.