April 16-broccoli and grammar don't mix...

My friends Jessica (who just grammar checked me) and Natalee wanted to be mentioned in my blog...now they are. We have newspaper together, and I am always grammar checking them. That is why Jessica wanted me to write that she corrected my grammar. I would like to clarify that situation. I wrote that first sentence in class, because Jessica wanted to be in my blog. After I wrote, "My friend Jessica," Natalee stated that she also would like to be in my blog. So, I added "and Natalee," after, "My friend Jessica." I knew right away that friend was supposed to be friends, but I couldn't correct it in time. Jessica was already too excited about finding a mistake, that she could have wet her pants. So, there I was left to explain myself about that "mistake," but they (especially Jessica) would not hear any of it. I found that story interesting, and I hope you did as well.

At this moment, I am talking to my friend Lytysha, and entertaining her while she is stuck in her 3 hour class. When I asked her what I should blog about today, she replied, "Broccoli." I don't know why she wanted me to blog about broccoli, and she doesn't either. So without further ado, here is short story about broccoli:

When I was little (around 5-7) I was in love with broccoli. It was in fact, my very favorite vegetable. I ate it at least every week, and was a very happy child when I feasted on my broccoli, especially when it had cheese on it. However, one day while at my dad's house, something went wrong between me and the broccoli. I ate the broccoli with cheese, and all was well. That is, it was well until we started to drive back to my mom's house. As we were driving I alerted my dad that I did not feel well. While I was saying, "I think I'm going to throw up," the cheese-covered broccoli decided it didn't want to be introduced, so it just decided to make a reapperance before I could finish my statement. Since I was a small and emotional child, I apologized and then burst into tears about throwing up in my dad's car. I don't know which is worse, the actual puke in the car, or a child crying/screaming because of the puke in said car. This was then end of my broccoli eating days.

Well, there. Now there are TWO stories. HA!