Actually I today I would like to explain why I hate basketball. This is probably the story that has shaped my life the most up to this point. Ready?

Ok. Kindergarten. One of the last days of the school year. My teacher, who lived about a block away from the school, was having a sprinkler party at her house. It was pouring rain in the morning as my mom was helping me get ready for school. She assured me that the party would be cancelled, therefore she didn't pack my bathing suit in my backpack.

But, lo and behold, the sun came out that afternoon with a vengeance. And of course, 95% of the class had their bathing suits. Except me. While my friends were running through sprinklers and having fun, I was left at the basketball court, forced to play basketball with the ickiest boys in the class, including the one that ate paste. And that is the story of why I hate basketball.

Irrational? Perhaps. No matter how hard people tried to convince me to attend basketball games in high school, or to join pep band in college, I just wouldn't do it. But as you see, I'm not to blame for my insanity. Blame my mom. And Paste Boy.

Well can you tell I have nothing to write about? The next childhood trauma I will discuss when I'm bored absolutely to tears will be the story of why I don't wear turtleneck sweaters. And that one's not pretty. ;)

Off to drool over Ewan McGregor. :D

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