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I was appalled that no one had the good manners to manage a hello and equally taken aback by the pure ecstasy on all their faces.
I had never planted my face so fast into a carpet in my life.
Had I known as I walked up the hill to Stacy’s house that night, I was about to embark on one of life’s greatest adventures, I would have gotten there forty-five minutes earlier.Reason led me to assume it had something to do with either a Smurf or a Cabbage Patch Kid, both of varying appeal.When I got to Stacy’s house, her Jamaican housekeeper, Margaret—or, as I liked to call her, M-Dawg—let me in.was eight years old and well into the third grade at Riker Hill Elementary School when I fell head over heels in love with myself.What can only be described as the “cornerstone of my youth” came unexpectedly out of left field and washed over me like a Category 5 cyclone.
I got out my sleeping bag and lay on that for more cushioning. is what my phys-ed teacher meant when she talked about “connecting with your body.” This is a fucking connection, all right.