Dirt

As a kid, I had one friend. Her name was Sam and she is my cousin. We lived right next to eachother so we were basically raised as sisters. Rarely a day would go by that we weren't playing in the yard together. We liked dirt, never wore shoes, would strip naked every chance we got, and did a lot of stuff that would have gotten any other kid a butt whoopin' of epic proportions. We were fun kids, and my mom loves telling stories about us. This is one of my favorites.

We grew up in the country so there were lots of things to do. And by 'do' I mean destroy. There were several lawn mowers, edgers, tractors, golf-carts, chain saws, and other things that begged for us to "work on them." All of this equipment was stored in the "shed." It was an ominous building which was really just a five car garage that only had siding on the back wall. It was set back from the house and right along the tree line of our property. If we wanted to do something we knew we shouldn't do, Sam and I would head for the shed. One day, we must have overheard Papa saying how the lawn mower tank was empty (as in, out of gas) because we decided to help out. We struck out for thet shed to solve this problem. Thirty minutes and two very dirty hands later, we'd done it. We'd filled up the gas tank. With dirt.

Later, when granny asked us what we'd done, our only response was "Ain't we smart!"