After we married in Mississippi in 1946, we went to New Haven, Conn., where my husband, Sherman, entered Yale on the GI Bill. For a while, we lived in a second-story apartment, sharing a bath with three other families on the floor. We became friends with a young couple on the first floor; I babysat their infant.
One day, the mother, Betty, brought us a huge bowl of tapioca pudding as a thank-you gift. We tried to eat it but really didn’t like it, and I really had no way of disposing of it. So on a very rainy, windy day, I decided to pour it out our kitchen window, thinking the rain would wash it away.
A few days later, I went downstairs to return the bowl to Betty. I expressed our thanks and mumbled something about enjoying the pudding. She replied: “Yes, I know. I saw it running down the side of the house.”
I was about 7 years old and walking with my younger brother to school. We were wearing winter boots, and there were large puddles of muddy water everywhere. We were told not to play in the puddles on our way to school.
Naturally, we stomped around in a particularly large puddle. While we were having our fun, Dad drove up right behind us and tooted his horn. I’m sure we had looks of horror on our faces at being caught red-handed!
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