So you ask what happened to me afterwards. I remember becoming very acquainted with every corner of our house or apartment. Sometimes I was sent to my room to contemplate my unsocial deeds. My Dad later questioned the effectiveness of this method by asking where’s the punishment in sending him to his room where he has a TV, a stereo, books and all his stuff.
One eventful day at grammar school I was introduced to the infamous F bomb by a fellow classmate. Naturally he failed to explain that the words meaning was bereft of subtle nuances. As I walked home down
When I told my Phone Rat about this post he added the caveat that Dads never count to 3. I agreed and said that's a whole other post.