When I was in the third grade I slapped my best friend. At lunch. In the cafeteria.
Let me start from the beginning.
I was just sitting there, minding my own, eating my chicken patty on bun, when she starts picking on me about my current crush, Rufus*.
“You like Rufus! You like Rufus! Na na na boo boo!” she taunted. (She didn’t really say “Na na na boo boo,” but it fits. Let me elaborate. This is a memoir, after all)
So I hauled off and smacked her in the face.
We were both stunned.
I couldn’t believe I did that.
She couldn’t believe I did that.
Then lunch was over.
Lucky for me she wasn’t a tattler, so I didn’t get in trouble.
I felt so guilty about it, though, that I gave her my pink unicorn eraser.
Anyone else remember these? They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. (Not just unicorns). We used to trade them and then line them up on our desks to show off our glorious bounty.
After that, all was right in the world.
And I haven’t slapped anyone else, since.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.