Sorry Santa, I can't tell you what time it is

So a) I never believed in Santa, and b) Santa visited my 1st grade class and was handing out oranges. I was wearing my mom's watch, but I still couldn't tell time. It was more of an accessory thing. Anyway, the Santa asks me what time it is and I can't tell him, and he asks why I am wearing the watch if I can't tell time. Santa shamed me.

Why did Santa do that to me do you suppose? That Santa sucked rather large kibble if I do say so myself. Many humiliating events occurred in my elementary years. Once upon a time we were playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey; the teacher spun my little blind-folded face round and round, and when I went to pin the tail, I just kept walking. When the laughter started, I ripped off the blindfold and saw that I was no where near the board. They had spun me and left me facing the wrong direction. Damn them. Damn them all.

Another time I was being tormented by a couple of boys. I remember the bigger one's name was Donald, and he had one of those continuously hoarse voices and wore overalls. He had a small side kick with uber blonde hair that reminded me of Woodstock. One day at recess I believe I was trying to get away from them and fell ass first into a mud puddle. These were the days when I still wore dresses. My white tights were soaked and now a cafe au lait color. I remember nothing after that. Oh the formative years... sucked. Sucked hard.