|My mother is going to love my artistic rendition of her...|
We went to the hamster store where I found the fuzziest, fattest hamster ever.
A couple of weeks after I got Cinnamon, my grandparents came to visit. It must have been Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or something. I begged my grandma to come downstairs and look at my hamster.
|Really, all the women in my family have amazingly big hair.|
I was torn. I really wanted them to come downstairs to see my hamster, but I also knew that if I went to the store with them, I stood a better chance of scoring sugary cereal and fizzy sodas. Eventually, my childish sugar craving won out and I skipped off to the store with grandma and grandpa with visions of Lucky Charms in my eyes.
We returned home in a caffeine fueled tizzy, and I dragged my (no doubt) tired grandparents downstairs to see my hamster in all her glory.
Tragically, while we were at the store, my hamster had died. My mom said she probably choked to death because she liked to eat her little house-tube-thing. But, honestly, it was probably from fright.
And thus, I learned one of the hard lessons of life: hamsters are like goldfish, they flush easily down the toilet.
I received this email from my mother after she read this post:
|All I have to say is that I was a sensitive child. And the cafeteria smelled funny, so of course I milked the opportunity to eat lunch elsewhere.|