Remember when we used to host a big Halloween party every year? Then we had, like, a gazillion babies and were too tired to do that anymore? I kind of miss it.
I am still here, in Regina, with the folks. It’s been a nice visit thus far despite Avelyn’s horrendous moods.
This is the story of a girl.
She had been blessed with a thick head of full, thick dirty blond hair, but cursed with a lackluster metabolism.
She had a hard time controlling her somewhat unruly locks.
I was eight; they were 12. They were all so pretty and cool; I was dumpy and fat. I was placed in their cabin by mistake but had to stay there.
While digging through some rubbley piles of antiquated junk I found an old book I had made when I was 12 years old. It was a school project, an autobiography.
My hand rested in his as we sauntered down the forest path. He was much taller than I, with sandy blonde hair and a nice smile. And he was my boyfriend, of three days. Ah, summer camp and the promise it held.