At Jennifer’s house there were Barbie’s I neither liked nor understood. Also a poofy dog.
At Jennifer’s house we ate salad with oil & vinegar dressing, but her mom got cancer. So salad didn’t count for much, did it?
At Jennifer’s house there was an upstairs bathroom. We poured liquids from her mom’s medicine cabinet into the bathtub to get a good fizz going, but once we walked in on her mom connecting something to her private parts over the toilet with a string or a tube, so instead we went outside to hang upside-down on her swing set and laughed at this other girl for letting her boobies show when she tried to do like we did.
Between Jennifer’s house and mine was a tree I made her climb and she broke her leg. She still let me come over after that, and even after I told her to get naked for no apparent reason. Of course, I blamed the naked Barbie’s.
At Jennifer’s house I vacuumed her mom’s rug, which may have made up for my terrible lack of judgment and bossiness as her superior nine-year old neighbor. Jennifer moved away after she got off her crutches.
Jennifer invited me to her new house and her dad let us run behind his truck with the tailgate down so we could hop in the back.
Jennifer’s mom didn’t live in the new house. She wasn’t living at all. Their poofy dog was there. None of it made any sense.
For Real Toads