In mid-October of her 4th grade year, Holli had a slumber party. All the girls from her class were invited. It a night worthy of ….hmmm….Oprah? Jerry Springer? Saturday Night Live? Well, let’s just say it was DIFFERENT.  After dining on a birthday cake made of gummy worms and crumbled cookies made to look like dirt, the girls  — white, black and hispanic — hung out camped on our yucky blue living room carpet while Charlie and I went to bed.
Whoosh. A big dark shadow crawled across my left eye as I dozed off…UNTIL I realized that ‘whoosh’ was one of the giant roaches that frequented our old rented house. My throat let out a scream worthy of an old black and white B-movie. Which inspired more than a few screams from the girls out in the living room, now convinced that I was being beheaded…or worse. Charlie found the bug, which was prehistoric in size, and flushed it down the toilet. It took hours to get those girls calmed down.
But my most treasured memory of that night is a poem one group of girls taught the others (and me) that night as we giggled in the front of the house:
My head hurts
My bra’s too tight
My bootie shakes from the left 
…to the right
From the left and to the right.
It’s 15 years later and that’s exactly how I feel. My head hurts. My bra *is* too tight. And darn it all, my bootie shakes from the left and to the right. But, praise God, there’s not a roach in sight.