I’ve said this before, but sometimes it amuses me as to the things that first pop into my head when I read the WordPress one-word daily prompt. Today’s word is mope.
Upon seeing that word, a memory popped in my mind. Yeah, it’s a silly story and it happened when I was around four years old. I don’t have too many memories from that age but this one is etched vividly in my memory.
As a toddler, my mother used to dress me in these little solid colored cotton tee shirts with two shoulder snaps. I had several of them and they came in white and a very anemic pastel colored yellow. They may have been boys shirts.
One day I had been outside playing and I remember coming in and wanting to change my shirt. I don’t think I had a reason, I just wanted to change. My shirt was still clean and I’m sure my mother had mountains of laundry with a family of five that included three little girls— ages 4, 5 and 7, and didn’t need me unnecessarily adding a clean shirt to her pile. I remember she wouldn’t let me change my shirt. I recall it was late in the afternoon and she told me I needed to just wear the shirt I had on for the remainder of the day.
Here’s where the moping begins. I moped and I moped. My mother used to tell me that she could discipline the three of us girls over something, and that my sisters might mope a few minutes, but they would quickly get over it. Not so with me. She said I would hold a grudge for days.
With the shirt, my mother stood her ground. I was DETERMINED to put on another shirt. So while my mother was in the living room, I went into the kitchen (oh I cringe as I remember this part so vividly) and I opened the refrigerator door and I proceeded to grab the little French’s mustard jar and the Heinz ketchup bottles, and you can guess what this four-year old did. My immature little brain was thinking that my mother surely would NOT let me continue to wear the shirt if it was dirty, so dirty it would be! I’m sure I was saying to myself, “Well, I’ll show her!” Yep, I smeared mustard and ketchup all down the front of my shirt. I don’t normally consider myself to have been a brat growing up, but this day, I’ll just go ahead and admit it, I was a brat with a capital B!
photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/205899014183967005/
After I smeared the front of my shirt good (and I mean I got it good), I pranced into the living room proudly showing off the blobs of bright yellow and red all down the front side of me and boldly told my mother to look at my shirt. “NOW can I PLEASE go change my shirt mommy?” My mother did not bat an eye but I could tell she was not pleased with my little escapade. She knew EXACTLY what my game plan had been. She just smiled a big smile and then announced that I could just wear that shirt the rest of the day as my punishment. And I did. I smelled that tangy and tarty mustard and ketchup all the rest of that day until I was nauseated and miserable. And she not only made me keep that shirt on, but she also made me clean up the mess I’d made on the kitchen floor.
Chalk one up for mom. Lesson learned. I NEVER pulled a stupid stunt like that again.