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nike roshe run flyknit womens and most brides
06-07-2016, 12:59 PM
Post: #1
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锘? Somewhere around the summer between my 5th and 6ths grade
years at EV Cain Elementary School a girl named Rhonda moved from Grass Valley
Auburn <mybb-bad-sm> , and there was something about her that fascinated me.
I saw her sometimes during the summer, going to the show with other girls, or
shopping downtown with her Mother. She was intriguing to me for some reason. I
can't think of that reason now, but I wanted to meet her, or to do something,
anything, so she would notice me. Once I saw her at the town park up by the
Recreation Field, and since I was a fast runner in those days, I thought I might
show her how swift I was, and thereby impress her with my speed. I had just seen
a Superman
movie <mybb-bad-sm> , and was impressed with the whole idea of speed,
and thought she might be too. She was sitting on the lawn with a couple other
girls I knew, and I wished that they would go away so I could impress her
without them saying something like "that's only Duane," or some other dumb thing
girls said back in those days. I waited for probably a half-hour or more for my
opportunity. Her friends didn't budge. But I spotted a beagle running
lickity-split in her general direction, and I thought, "if she sees me running
faster than that dog, she'll really be impressed with me!" So I took out at an
angle, until I was about parallel with the dog, and we zoomed side by side
within a few feet of the girls and on to wherever the dog was headed. Before I
got out of earshot I heard her ask "who is the dumb kid with the cute dog?" My
heart sank, but my feet ran on. The dog seemed to know where he was
going <mybb-bad-sm> , but I didn't and within seconds I found myself sliding
on my back across a freshly watered section of lawn. As I slid to a stop, the
dog turned back, gave me a curious look, and licked my face as if to say, "Are
you OK?" I couldn't bear looking back to see if Rhonda was watching, but I heard
the girls giggling, so I was sure she saw the entire show. Later that same
summer I was walking on the sidewalk in front of the Auburn Post Office where my
Dad worked, when I spotted her coming out of the Post Office lobby. She looked
so pretty in her curly, bouncy hair, pink blouse and pedal
pushers <mybb-bad-sm> , that again I felt the surge of desire coming over
me to impress her. I spotted a magnificent Schwinn bicycle parked by the curb; a
bike far more expensive than I could ever hope to own, and since I was just a
few feet from it at the time, I kind of casually stepped over to it and put one
hand on the handle bars, like I was just resting after a long ride through the
foothills of the Sierras. To my great surprise, she DID notice me, and in fact
walked directly toward me. When she was no more than a foot away from me she
asked, "OK, what are you doing with my bike?" I mumbled something about being
sorry I had mistaken her bike for mine, and she mumbled something with the word
"stupid" in it, and that was the end of that. She never did notice me after
that <mybb-bad-sm> , and I guess it's just as well. I understand
she went on to become a very successful waitress in old town Auburn. Now that
I've been married for more years than I care to mention, I've given up the idea
of trying to impress her. Oh, when I'm back in town and drive by the Cozy Spot
Cafe where she works, I'm always tempted to go in and somehow let her know that
the boy she scorned grew up to be a writer. But about the time I start to pull
in, my mind goes back to my first two attempts at impressing her, and I
visualize myself telling her about all the books I have written, and in my mind,
she responds by sarcastically asking if I write about dogs and stolen bikes, and
so I change my mind, and drive on. Of
course <mybb-bad-sm> , I knew lots of other girls as I was growing up, and I
suppose I had a normal amount of curiosity about them that any young guy had.
Roy Poindexter, a 5th grader, told a bunch of us 4th grade boys that the way to
tell the difference between boys and girls was to tape a small mirror to the toe
of one shoe, then walk casually up to a girl and engage her in conversation, and
simply place the foot with the mirror on it between the girl's feet. Then while
she was talking, we would simply glance down and get a glimpse of whatever was
hiding under her skirt. Roy spoke with the suave confidence of one who had done
it many times. In retrospect, I remember his Mom was a manager of women's
undergarments at J.C. Penny's, so he probably honed his craft by practicing on
the mannequins after hours. Despite his bragging, I have serious reservations as
to whether he ever tried it on a
real <mybb-bad-sm> , live girl, who would have to be both blind and stupid
to stand still for such an obvious ploy. But Billy Roberts believed him, and
announced that he was going to try it the next day at school. Instead of the
scenario turning out the way Roy predicted, the moment Billy walked on the
playground Wanda Johannson spotted the mirror, and yelled at him across the
basketball court "Hey Billy! What's that on your shoe?" So that was the end of
that experiment. And with a few notable exceptions, up until about the 7th grade
girls were those "other things" that we boys had no interest in and no use for,
unless it was to check the spelling of some word or to double check on our
homework assignment. We knew girls were different, but we didn't give much
thought to how they differed, except that they threw a baseball funny and used
two hands to shoot a basketball (even a lay up!), and they ran "like girls".
Except Linda Polameri. She threw a ball the right
way <mybb-bad-sm> , ran like a boy, and nobody would have bet against her
in a fair fight. The reason I know that is because she once got very angry with
me in class after I beat her in a class election, and challenged me to a fight
afterward. (Election of class officers was held twice a year, as I recall, and
students pretty much voted by sex; the girls voted for whatever girl was
running, and the boys voted for whatever boy was running. The only reason I ran

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