Adventures in Home Ownership: The Smell in the Kitchen

It all started about 6 weeks ago.  I came home from a particularly long day at work to find that our refrigerator and freezer had stopped working and everything in the freezer was thawed.  It was a wet, sticky mess.  One I did not want to clean up.  Even more importantly, I did not want to think about the possibility that we would need to buy a new unit.  I moved the fridge out and looked at the cords.  I flipped the breakers to the kitchen.  I checked the lights in both the freezer and the refrigerator to see if they were working.  After much puttering around I couldn't find what the problem was; so I left it for my husband to figure out when he got home.  After several days of having the fridge/freezer turn off and on at random intervals, we finally figured it out.  The cord for the unit was plugged into the wall via an adapter, due to the fact that all the outlets in our fine house are very old and thus, not grounded.  The fridge cord is a three prong cord, the outlet was a two prong.  The adapter the cord was using had become loose and the cord was not staying plugged in, thus it was shutting off.  My husband spent a Saturday swapping out the outlet and then plugging the fridge in.  Viola!  It worked like a charm and we had our lovely freezer and fridge back, without buying a new one.  But, that's was only the beginning of this adventure.

In order to explain this next part, I will have to go back several months.  My husband and I bought our lovely house last year in July and moved in the first week of August.  We bought the house from a sweet old lady who had been living here for 20 years.  She had taken very good care of the house and we were thrilled to be moving in to a home that didn't require us to do major repairs right away.  We had been in the house for a few months when things started to get interesting.

My husband and I have a dog, and although she doesn't dig deep holes, or dig to escape our back yard, she is a dog and she does like to dig things up.  The first thing she uncovered was a pile of what appeared to be buried household trash - old egg cartons, plastic grocery backs, cardboard boxes, etc.  She also periodically showed up with old blocks of wood and pieces of old butcher bones that another dog must have buried.

One day in December, a few days after a particularly heavy snow had fallen, she greeted me at the door with a bone in a her mouth.  Somehow it looked very different than the other things she had unearthed, so I pried it from her mouth in order to get a better look.  It was a hip bone, an actual, real hip bone.  It certainly did not belong to a small animal and I wasn't sure it belonged to any animal.  Me being the overly imaginative type, I instantly had visions of my dog unearthing a dead human in our backyard.  My logical side asserted itself and I pushed the silly thoughts from my head.  It must have come from a cow bone or something that the previous owner's dog had chewed on and then buried.  Right??  Yes, that had to be what it was.  I put the bone somewhere safe in our sunroom where the dog could not get it and determined to move on.

Over the next 3 or 4 months I would occasionally glance at the bone as I went in and out my back door and it would cause me to wonder.  I talked about it with some friends and they insisted I take it to the local police station to make sure it wasn't human.  I really didn't think that was necessary.  There's no way it could be human, and, besides, I had no idea where my dog had gotten the bone from.  She hadn't dug up any others, so it must not be a big deal.

Then, in April, something else creepy happened.  I was home alone one night.  It had rained all day and everything was wet and muddy.  During the later part of the evening, the storm picked up again and I could hear the wind howling outside.  My dog was acting very strange, unsettled and barking a lot.  She kept walking back and forth between the front and back doors, growling and acting nervous.  One particularly loud woosh of wind hit the house and the upstairs started creaking as though someone was walking around up there.  It sent the dog into fits of barking and and made me jump almost out of my skin.  I decided to step outside the back door and take a look around, just to reassure myself it really was the wind and not some strange man trying to enter my home and attack me.

I stepped into the sunroom and looked out onto the patio.  There, laying exactly in front of the sliding glass door, was a small hatchet.  The hatchet did not belong to us and I had never seen it before.  With the wind rushing around me, lighting flashing sporadically, and that hatchet just lying there as though it had been left for me, I felt like I was living my very own version of The 'Burbs.  I wanted to scream, and God knows my heart was pounding a mile a minute, but I forced myself to walk out and pick up the hatchet.  I inspected it closely.  It was old and very rusted and it had clearly been buried until recently.  The dog must have dug it up and brought it to the porch to chew on.  At least that was what my logical mind was telling me.

I brought the hatchet inside, deciding it was safer to have it with me than to leave it outside for any possible prowlers to pick up and use on me.  I know, it sounds ridiculous, but a woman at home alone during a storm that caused her house to sound like it's being invaded by the worst creatures imaginable is apt to have some silly thoughts.  In my defense, the only truly silly thing I did was call my husband and plead for him to come home as soon as he could.  Anyway, after that night I put the hatchet outside, also in the sunroom, and left it there.  Now I have both the bone and the hatchet to keep me wondering every time I see them.

Now, keeping all this information in mind, we return to the broken refrigerator and it's aftermath.  It was 3 days after we fixed the fridge that these two seemingly unrelated incidences converged.  I came home from work that evening and was greeted with a most unpleasant smell in the house.  It smelled liked something had died and was starting to decompose.  I had a voice lesson to teach, so I hastily lit some candles and opened windows to help alleviate the smell.  After my lesson, I went on a mission to find the source of the horrible smell and expel it from the house.  After exploring every inch of the house, my nose told me the smell was originating from the kitchen.  Logically, I assumed it had to be coming from the fridge or freezer and was likely the result of that unit's malfunction the week before.  I cleaned and scrubbed the fridge and freezer and emptied it of anything I thought may have gone bad.  When my husband came home, we further investigated to determine exactly where the smell was coming from.  After careful examination of the entire unit, I gave my opinion that the smell must be coming from the drip pan under the freezer.  My husband disagreed and said he couldn't see anything down there but dried up liquid and he didn't think that was it.  We agreed to look elsewhere, beginning the great hunt to locate the awful kitchen smell.

Over the next 5 weeks the smell got worse and worse.  It would wax and wane throughout the day, usually being worse at night.  We tried everything we could think of.  We moved the refrigerator and cleaned behind it, cleaned everything inside again, threw away more food.  We even looked in the crawl space below the house to see if an animal had become trapped and died down there.  No luck.  The smell of death and rotting continued to fill our house.

Last weekend I made one last attempt to pinpoint the exact location of the smell.  By this point, I was so sick of living with the smell that I was determined to find it and get rid of it.  I became convinced that it was coming from the wall behind the fridge.  If I moved the fridge out, the smell was strongest back there.  It had to be coming from something back there.  There is a small corner where the cabinets meet the wall and there is slight crack in the baseboards there.  The smell was really bad in this area.  It had to be the source of the stink.  My husband was skeptical, but couldn't deny that the smell was concentrated to that area of the kitchen.    He poked around and then declared that he did not think the smell was in the walls.

Now, living with a horrid stench can drive someone mad, and thinking and saying silly things out of sheer desperation is not, I don't believe, an illogical result of that madness.  I was a desperate woman in need of answers, as well as a solution.  Coming home to and waking up to the horrid smell of decay was really starting to get to me, and no amount of nice smelling candles or fresh air could help me.  My poor mind began to explore all the possibilities in the hopes of finding an answer.  I began to remember all the strange things that had happened since moving in.  The memory of finding the bone and the hatchet lodged themselves in my mind and I could not escape them.  What if.... what if the nice old lady we bought the house from... wasn't all that nice after all?  What if that terrible, dreadful smell was linked to something really terrible after all?  Something like a dead body, or pieces of it, hidden in the kitchen wall behind the refrigerator.

I pleaded with my husband to cut the wall out behind the fridge so we could see if something had died in there.  This was not a popular idea.  All that weekend I talked about it and begged him to do something, even something drastic.  We could repair the wall, no problem.  I needed to know if there were dead people in my house.  I needed that smell to be gone.

I woke up Sunday morning to find the fridge pulled out from the wall, the front vent in pieces on the floor, and tools strewn about in the kitchen.  I had to leave the house early, before my husband was up, so I would have to find out from him later what he was doing.  Later that afternoon I asked him what the mess was all about.  "Oh," he said, "I read online that lots of other people have had this problem and that the smell comes from the drip pan that sits under the freezer.  I checked it out and that's where it's coming from.  I took the front vent apart trying to figure out how to get the pan out so we could clean it.  Unfortunately, it doesn't come out, so we will have to find another way to get to it."  Wait...the pan that I suggested was the culprit 5 weeks ago?  That pan is where this stench is coming from?  Seriously?  So, there are no dead people in my walls?  Wait, so we could have solved this 5 WEEKS ago???

I spent the next three days on my hands and knees with a bottle of Pinesol and paper towels, stretching my arms to their limit in order to get that pan clean.  I finally did it, and the smell is finally gone.  As it turns out, it really wasn't dead bodies in my walls after all, just a smelly drip pan that had collected all the raw meat and food juices and held them while they rotted.  I'm thankful there were no bodies, and I am really thankful that disgusting smell is gone.

The 15 Passenger Van Adventure

It's been a while since I've had an urban bus adventure to write about, but this experience was certainly worth recording.  My husband and I are part of a small group at our church who meet regularly throughout the week.  Our church calls groups like these Lifegroups because you bond together and live life together.  My husband and I have spent the past year with the same individuals in our Lifegroup and have enjoyed many adventures with these people we consider very good friends.  However, we had never quite experienced an adventure like the one we had one Tuesday night in a very old, very dilapidated 15 passenger van.

It all began with a dream.  One girl had a dream of spending time with her closest friends on a trip in a 15 passenger van.  Just think of the good times and laughter that would ensue when 15 of your best buds were all crammed into a single elongated tube with wheels for any extended length of time!  She knew this would be an experience of a lifetime and, so, she set out to make it happen.  She searched and waited for the opportunity to present itself, and at last it did.  It was perfect!  A member of the group was flying home from an extended trip away and her flight was landing on the very night the group normally got together.  How exciting would it be for everyone to drive down together to surprise her and pick her up at the airport?!  The 40 minute trip there would be filled with the anticipation of surprising the home-bound girl, and the trip back would be filled with her filling us in on her adventures away.  This was the chance for an epic 15 passenger van adventure!  If only we had known how epic it would be...

Plans were put in place, sings were made, meeting places were arranges, and the day finally arrived.  The plan was to meet at one house and head to the airport from there.  One girl had told the friend flying in that she was going to pick her up from the airport, of course leaving out the detail about the 13 other people coming with her.  Everyone arrived at the house just after 5:00 p.m.  Our first inkling of trouble was the arrival of the van.  This thing looked like prayer was holding it together and the grace of God was keeping it running.  The paint was faded and peeling and there was a ring of rust around the bottom so thick it made you wonder if the bottom of the van was going to fall out at any moment.  It was certainly an old van that had seen better days.  Several people were visibly skeptical of the trustworthiness of our vehicle of choice.  Could we make it all the way to the airport and back in this van?  Our faithful leader assured us we could and scolded us for being quick to shy away from a "true adventure".  The girl who arranged for all this offered a test drive around the block for anyone who was unsure and wanted to do further research before making a decision.  This was quickly vetoed by our leader; she was sure we would lose adventurers in the process.  The prospect of escape removed, everyone shuffled outside, anxious to get the adventure underway.

As the group headed towards the van and began climbing in, the smell of gasoline began wafting through our nostrils.  At first we thought it was just outside and the smell would subside once we were in the van and no longer standing beside the exhaust pipe.  That was not so.  The smell was 10 times stronger inside the van that it had been standing outside on the sidewalk.  Our driver had started the van up and as it sat there running, waiting for everyone to get inside, the gas fumes began filling the van.  We knew from a prior email that there was no AC in the van and we would be relying on the windows to act as ventilation.  Now seemed like the perfect time to open the ventilation system.  Sadly, it was discovered that the only windows that actually opened were the two front seat windows.  There were two small side windows that only opened a crack, and a back window that sat over the exhaust pipe and opened halfway.  The large windows than spanned the majority of the van's flanks were completely sealed, rendering them useless panels of glass.  The back 2/3rds of the van was essentially a closed box with gas being pumped into it.  Still, we decided to press on.  We discovered that the gas smell subsided if we kept the van moving, allowing wind from the only two real windows that opened to increase the airflow and make breathing just barely possible.  Those of us with weak noses and/or respiratory systems used our shirts or other articles of clothing as scarfs to help filter out the smell.  Of course, every time the van had to idle at a stop sign or stop light, the smell again became unbearable and a round of coughing and gagging would ensue.  This led to cries from the passengers for the driver to keep moving.

To make our situation even more "adventurous", we had ventured out on our airport journey during the height of rush hour traffic.  As you can imagine, this meant lots of stopping and pausing in the van as we attempted to maneuver our way through traffic.  By this time the gas smell was so bad that most of the passengers were expressing regret over agreeing to this little adventure.  This regret led to discussion about the best possible route to the airport, aka - which route would produce the fewest opportunities for the van to idle and thus lessen our exposure to toxic gasoline fumes.  The driver decided that the main highway was the fastest and entered the on ramp, preparing to merge.  This led to outcries from passengers who were sure the highway would lead to more stopping and possible death by gasoline inhalation.  The back and forth verbal exchanges led to some crazy driving and a fairly miraculous merging in to oncoming traffic and then a quick exit onto the first off ramp we came across.  As the van pulled to a stop at the traffic light for the off ramp, our driver announced that we had just used a quarter of a tank of gas to drive 8 miles and we were now in need of finding a gas station to fill up the gas tank.  Hmm...  There must be a gas leak.  That would certainly explain the strong gas smell.  But how bad was the leak?  Surely we could just fill up and keep driving to the airport.  Next stop: the nearest gas station.

After about 5 minutes of driving around, we found a gas station and everyone piled out of the van as quickly as they could, gasping for breath and taking huge gulps of the fresh outside air.  Our makeshift "scarves" had been no match for the might of the van's gas fumes.  Several of the guys converged at the front of the van to examine the fuel line and see if there really was a gas leak.   One look under the van was all it took to see gas flowing from the fuel line like water from a faucet.  Great.  Now what?  "We could fix it and still go to the airport," offered one person. "We could just leave it alone and still likely make it to the airport," offered another.  "No thanks.  Dying is not on my lists of things to do for today, and, I'd like to add, not something we signed up for as a part of this trip," was another viewpoint offered.  We pulled the van off to the side of the gas station parking lot.  Some people went inside to buy snacks.  Some people began calling to arrange a ride back home.  A couple of the guys debated what to do about our poor lame van.  One thing was clear - no one was getting back in the van to take it for a drive.  I guess no one was willing to bet we wouldn't burst into flames somewhere along the rest of the trip to the airport.  We were pretty sure our friend would rather see us alive again than see us die valiantly trying to meet her at the airport.  Speaking of our friend.  Just as we were all piling out of the risky, death trap of a van, our friend texted the girl she thought was going to pick her up that her flight had arrived 30 minutes early and she was now preparing to collect her bags and wait outside to be picked up.  Oh the irony!  We didn't know whether to laugh or cry as we informed out friend of our now disastrously foiled plans to surprise her at the airport.  She was touched at our good intentions and told us not to worry, that she would find a way back home.  Well, at least we had the rest of the night to hang out, right?  Sadly, or hysterically, this night was not yet over.

After one guy called his mom to come rescue most of us, we sat around munching on snacks and giving the van a thorough lookover.  As it turned out, there were TWO gas leaks in the fuel line, and there was no way that van was driving anywhere without being fixed.  Further perplexing was the knowledge that it had been driven from Nebraska to Colorado just a few weeks prior as a replacement for the church's high school group, when their van broke down on the way home.  I will never know, or understand, how that van managed to drive all that way without literally blowing up.  Miracles still happen.

Soon the bulk of us were piling into a new vehicle, a much more road-worthy one this time, and saying goodbye to a small group left behind to await a tow truck that would take the van safely back to it starting point.  We drove back to our original meeting spot and decided we would order pizza for dinner, as everyone was quite hungry after our grand adventure.  When we arrived at the house, the pizza was ordered and then two people went to pick it up.  That's when the waiting began.  Our friend at the airport had said she was going to catch a bus and would call when she was close to the house and ready to be picked up.  That was an hour ago.  Where was she?  A call to her revealed that she had missed the bus and had to wait an hour to catch the next one.  She wouldn't be back for another hour.  The friends we had left waiting for the tow truck were still waiting, and it would take another hour before they showed up.  The two people who had gone to get the pizzas called to say that the pizza parlor had given our pizzas away to some firefighters and so they were waiting while more pizzas were made.  It was another 30 minutes before they finally returned.

Finally, 8:30 p.m. found us all back at our original meeting spot, eating pizza and shaking our heads in disbelief at the adventure we had just been on.  The good: we had all made it out alive.  The bad: we might have inflicted some long-term damage with all the gas we inhaled, and the van was definitely in bad shape.  We had some very good laughs that night as we related our story to friends who showed up later.  The long awaited 15 passenger van adventure had indeed been memorable and it was safe to bet that it would be another long while before the next adventure that involved a 15 passenger van.

How 'Bout Urban Car Adventures???

I'm not so sure that title will work or that these stories will be nearly as fun to post and read, but, I no longer ride the bus except occasionally. I now have a car that I drive. I do quite a lot of driving during the week going from one client's house to the next and sometimes I definitely have what could qualify as an adventure. Sometimes these adventures are fun and entertaining to relate, but I am just not sure they will ever be as fun and entertaining as my bus stories from Tucson. So sad. Still, I do love to write a good story and I've had some good ones to tell recently. So, bus or no, I will use this blog to tell my stories. I think life in general is pretty interesting and so long as you are engaging people, you will have funny stories to tell. Of course, I am also of the opinion that the urban setting does something to bring out the character in a person a bit differently than a more rural setting does, but that is a whole different topic of conversation. So, for anyone out there who occasionally checks in on this blog, I hope to give much more attention to my postings for this site than I have in the past 2 years (Grad school happened and consumed my life), and I hope you all will join me as I weave the tales of my urban adventures. Enjoy the ride!

Urban Bus Adventures: CO

I have been riding the buses here in CO now for about 2 months and I must say that they are not nearly as interesting as the buses in Tucson. I find this rather sad. I miss the colorful people that populated the Tucson buses and made riding them and adventure. The most interesting things that happen on the Colorado buses is the bus drivers. I get angry ones, happy ones, and those who seem half asleep while they are driving. I have one who says only the first letter of the upcoming streets and expects you to feel in the blank if you want to know where you're at. There is another one whose voice is a lazy lulling type of voice that starts low and pitches up every time he says a street name. So it sounds something like someone half attempting to sing but can only sing the same to pitches. It's one of the strangest voice qualities I have ever come across.
Despite these somewhat amusing observations I still miss the wild-eyed bag ladies, the drunk homeless guys, the sleepy college students, the frazzled business man and the small students on their way to class that fill the buses in Tucson. They gave me much more fodder for thought and kept me far more entertained. Perhaps those types of people are not allowed to live in my city in Colorado. Sad. As a result I am not so sure I will actually have bus adventures here. It remains to be seen.

Urban Bus Adventure: Colorado

It has been years since I had to ride the bus, but with my recent move I am finding myself using the bus system once again. Yesterday was my first time exploring the bus system in Colorado on my own. I had been walking most of the day but the rain started coming down pretty hard and I decided it was time to catch a bus. The first bus I boarded was taking me to a connecting bus. I boarded with a family of a husband, wife and two kids. The kids were loud and cheerful and I actually found myself enjoying their exchanges with their dad. As their volume rose their mom instructed them to read the sign in the bus that hinted at keeping your voice down. The dad played games with the kids and it was quite funny to see how they reacted to him. A short ride and we arrived at the transit center. I climbed off the bus and headed out into the rain. I had to make a stop in one of the nearby buildings before I caught the bus home. When I was done I ventured back out into the rain and towards the stop where I would catch the bus home. I was back at the transit station standing at a bus stop, watching the rain come down all around me. It was a wet dreary day and the temperature was starting to drop. I could feel the chills starting to creep up my arms and legs. I am a Tucson girl through and through and the cold damp weather makes me shiver. As my bus pulled up to the curb I was thankful to get aboard and dry off. As I boarded I showed the driver my transfer and asked about a stop close to my house. The driver was nice and told me she would drop me off as close to my house as possible. I headed towards the back of the bus and decided on a seat somewhere in the middle. I was the only person on the bus and I was thankful to have a moment alone. I was situating myself in my seat and trying to dry off my wet bags when the driver started talking to me. She was telling me all about her other job and the animals that she owns and takes care of. I couldn't believe how friendly she was, but I was thankful to have someone to talk to. I had been on my own for a day now and I was wanting some communication with other human beings. As we started the drive towards my destination the driver kept talking. Soon I found that she had family in Arizona and went to visit often. She was familiar with Tucson and it was nice to be able to talk about home. As we traveled along our route we stopped to pick up various passengers. We had a college student, a very drunk young man, and a rather interesting looking woman get on the bus. The driver would interact with each and then return to talking to me as they seated themselves. She talked the whole trip and when we got to my stop she wished me luck and let me off. I was thrilled. My first bus adventure here in CO and it was a great one. It seemed the drivers would be great people to get to know and the passengers would provide the entertainment and I had come to expect from riding the bus. Yes, things would definitely be good here.

IWH: Easter Sunday and Crepes

As do most people, my family and community I grew up in had traditions that they followed every year. My favorite one by far was the Easter Sunday brunch and the crepes they always served. From the time of my first memories I can remember that every Easter Sunday we had a brunch at the church and every year we had crepes. There were a lot of things that changed throughout the years. The time of the service, the order- whether we would eat first or have the service first- whether we would eat inside or out, the length of the service; but one thing never changed - crepes. These wonderful, delightful cakes were the most scrumptious things served and we kids looked forward to eating them all year long. We had crepes with fruit filling topped with whipped cream. We had them with lemon juice and powdered sugar. We had them rolled up with just whipped cream (not a popular thing with the parents), and we even had them just plain. They were so wonderful! Every year the line by the crepe platter was very long and once you reached the platter you filled up your plate so that you had some left over just in case all the adults gobbled them up before you could come back for seconds. Hehe. It makes me laugh to remember it! When I was about nine or ten my cousin and I would help my uncle, the designated crepe-maker, make the crepes. We would get up early Easter Sunday morning and would get all the ingredients out of the fridge. Then we would add them all to the blender and push the button, creating a goopy soup that would be cooked into glorious crepes. I remember the first time I helped with this. I was so shocked that disgusting things such as sour cream and cottage cheese were blended together to make such a yummy dish. I asked my uncle three times if he was sure these were the right ingredients. He just laughed and said, "Why don't you wait and see when they are done." Of course, being my skeptical self, I did. When the first one was off the griddle my cousin and I split it in half and started eating. It was SO good. My uncle had been right after all! This nasty concoction has turned into the divine "pancakes" I loved so much. *Side note: I learned right then and there that it's ok to put things you would have never thought of together. They just might make something great!* I never forgot how to make crepes and to this day they are my favorite breakfast food. When I close my eyes I can still smell them cooking and see them laid out on a platter with the fruit filling and whipped cream sitting there waiting for me to load my plate up and enjoy myself.

IWH: The Friend

I was young, about six or seven years old, I had just gotten a new doll to play with. One day I took my new doll to school. The school was the church school and all the kids whose parents were in the church spent all day, almost every day, at the school. This was the routine we followed. We went to school until 3 o'clock every afternoon and then spent the afternoon and evening waiting for our parents to take us home. Everyone stayed there except for the pastor's kids. They left every afternoon at 3 o'clock and went home. When they left, they usually took home "friends" to play with and hang out with for the day. The pastor's had three kids so they took home three "friends". All the kids at the school wanted to be one of the "friends" chosen for the day because it meant getting to leave the school and then being able to participate in all the privileges the pastor's kids enjoyed. The pastor's youngest daughter was almost three years older than I was and we hardly ever played together unless it was group activities. I never was invited to be her special friend for the day, and for the most part this didn't bother me. On this particular day when I took my doll to school, the pastor's daughter decided she really liked my doll and wanted to play with it. So, she asked if I would let her have a turn with the doll. Now, she had several doll cases filled with dolls and doll accessories that she brought to school with her every day and she and her friends would play with these all day long. I was invited occasionally to join them but I always had to play the way they wanted to and dress my dolls according to their instructions. So, to have my own doll meant I could do as I wanted with it and I was very happy about this. When the pastor's daughter asked to play with my doll I wasn't too eager to hand it over. Seeing my hesitancy she decided to pull out her biggest bargaining chip. "If you let me play with your doll, you can come home with me today as my friend and we can play with your doll all afternoon together," she told me. I asked her if she would promise me this was true and if she would make sure it happened. When she agreed to do so, I let her have the doll the play with. A short while later it was time for the pastor's kids to get ready to go home for the afternoon. Since I was to be one of the special friends that day I packed up my things and put on my coat to go and then followed the other friends out the door to the car. When I got to the car in the parking lot the woman who usually baby-sat the pastor's children stopped me and asked me what I was doing. I told her that I was the special friend for the pastor's daughter today, that she had wanted to play with my doll and had said I could come with her today as her friend if I let her play with it. The woman called the girl's name and asked her if this was true. The girl replied that she didn't know what I was talking about and that I was just making something up in order to be a "friend" for the day. The woman looked at me and said, "I thought so. There is no way she would have chosen you to be her friend." I tried to insist that I was telling the truth but the woman ignored me. "Go back inside and don't every try something like this again. You and she don't play together and it's ridiculous for you to think she would ask you to be her friend," she said. With that she got in the car and they drove away. I was left standing there wondering what had just happened and why it had happened. I felt embarrassed, disappointed, humiliated, used and betrayed. I went back inside and cried for most of the afternoon. It had been a devastating experience for me and one I would never forget.