When I was three – an extremely wise and worldly three, of course – I decided that I would marry my Uncle Joe. He was older (about 24) and related to me (reminder: I was THREE), so there were some obstacles. But, I had made my decision and I thought it was a pretty sound one. Uncle Joe was funny and he gave me cookies; what else does a three year old need?
One day when Uncle Joe was visiting we were playing a rousing game of hide-n-seek. I found Uncle Joe hiding behind the front door and in a fit of giggles I tagged him.
Uncle Joe did not react how I expected. He yelled at me! I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something about pain and don’t do that.
I was terrified. And sad. And heart broken. I decided that I didn’t want to marry Uncle Joe anymore. I’ll admit, it was a little tough to be as old as three with no decent prospects.
Years and years later I was telling what had become a cute little story about Uncle Joe and how his foolish little niece had once wanted to marry him. And as I’m telling the story, I realize, “Oh my gosh! I racked him! I smacked him square in the balls! No wonder he yelled at me!”
I laughed for about 2 hours.
So, Uncle Joe, my sincere and belated apologies for my injury to you and for breaking our engagement. If it helps, I did wind up marrying someone who is funny and brings me cookies – only much more my age and much less related to me 🙂