Go Ahead, Eat That Cake.

The following featured entry was originally published by May-B on her weblog, Buggering Crap Monkies. She "...will make you sit, pour you a bowl of cereal, sew your mouth shut, tell you what to do, how to do it and then that you're doing it wrong."

The year I turned 11, my best friend lived next door. She was a year older than I (because I was so mature, you know) and this caused us all manner of grief. Her friends thought I was a baby, my friends thought she was a snob. But what did they know? I had a collection of Barbies with a full handmade wardrobe and she had a house that smelled like curry and an endless collection of Bollywood movies. We were happy with our arrangement.

Her birthday party that fall was going to be a lavish affair. She was anxious to where her party dress -- a white dress with frills and a big red bow. I was anxious to publicly announce our friendship and to eat cake.

I was devastated when she told me I would not be invited to the party. Her parent's would not allow her to invite just one child out of a different grade. She was allowed to invite all the students in her own class, but if she invited one of another grade, they felt they needed to invite all that grade.

As an adult, I understand. In fact, I condone it and implement the same type of rule. I hate when kids are left out. It is mean and cruel and parents should know better than to allow it. So, I get it. But at the time? I was heartbroken.

And then, I was mad.

The day of the party, I was determined. I wasn't going outside, I wasn't going to watch her and all her friends have fun and eat cake. I wasn't going to do it. I was going to be strong and protest my hurt feelings. However, despite my determination, somehow, I found myself perched high in the tall tree in my yard peering over into her yard like a stalker.

And somehow, I had my parent's water hose with the spray gun in my hand. As she leaned in toward her perfect cake, in her perfect white dress with red ribbon, with her perfect friends all crowded around her, I pressed down the trigger on the spray gun. And soaked the entire party.

I was cruel about it. I aimed the gun directly at her white dress with the red ribbon and soaked her. Then, I moved to the cake and on to the friends scattering across the lawn. I kept spraying as children screamed and adults started to search for the culprit. I only stopped when my friend looked up and caught my eye from my perch in the tree.

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