January 16, 2004

The day I got David Hartman in Trouble

We were in fourth grade. I had gotten creative the night before, borrowed my mother's driver's license, and made such a presice replica--even pasted a little photo of me on it--that when I showed it to David Hartman in Mrs. Bush's class, he screeched. Out loud. In the middle of class.

"She has a license, Mrs. Bush! She can drive!!!! Look! Look! (turning to me) show it to her!"

I stuffed it in my pocket and looked innocent.

David got yelled at and I was glad I had my license.

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