I got a good chuckle out of this kind comment left by Pauldub last night.

“Sorry for grinning, but I have difficulty seeing you that angry.”

Oh dear. I bet a few of you out there have counter-comments to this one. Lil Brother nicknamed me…Lucy Van Pelt, for a crabby, bitchy reason. Not because I look cute (and bossy) in blue.

Me, angry…anyone care to share a moment in history with my blog friends?

I was reminded of one example today from my dear Freshman Friend from High School Kristen (who I have rediscovered the very joy of from MySpace)

“See, now I remember you this angry … ripped and muddy tights, an hour late to church, car in the ditch … and a luggage rack ripped from the back of a green car b/c you tried to pull it out of the ditch yourself. : ) My parents reminded me of this story (laughing) at Christmas then went on to how great Jen is and how did you ever lose touch with her?”

Even better? Kristen neglected to mention the fact that this happened THE MORNING AFTER PROM. Yes friends, little Jenny Smith…no potty mouth, pure and virginal from the drink and most everything else in life, actually tried to go to CHURCH the morning after staying up all night drinking coffee at Perkins, kissing her equally squeaky clean boyfriend all night after the after-prom party at Jacobi’s. (The boyfriend? Imagine a squeakier, cleaner, more religious, wholesome son of a Cherry Farmer Alex P. Keaton…the first love had a Nixon, Reagan and Bush doll, before they started making up action figures to make fun of Republicans.) And I ended up in the ditch? Me?

Now…in my defense, I lived in a very rural dirt road, hilly/twisty area. And those twists and turns and the muddy tracks in the road can make it difficult to maneuver for a 17 year old, especially after staying up all night. Ok, so on the particular occasion (which I remember vividly, screaming at the top of my lungs “Why God? Whhhhy? I WAS GOING TO CHURCH!!!) I was not on the dirt road, but at least 3 other times I was.

Thank God my mother’s new husband was a dairy farmer. Bring on the chains and the tractor and pull Jenny out of the ditch, once more.

I one time caught a glimpse of my little step-sister playing *Jenny* with her dolls, a hidden moment stolen from my wee step-sister of three’s innocence and youth. Vanessa’s dolly was pretending to drive a car to pick up a friend, and a few seconds later I heard “oops, Jenny went in the ditch!”

Moi?

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