Herstory (To Be Confused with History) Part (I lost count)

I seemed to get in a little more than my fare share of trouble when I was younger. I don't know if it's because I was an only child or if it was because maybe I wasn't so good at lying. Either way, if there was trouble to get into, I was knee deep in it. Particularly when it came to writing.
It wasn't until much later in life that I came to realize the power of the word, written or spoken. One would think I'd have learned, or at least should have learned, by the numerous things I wrote down that resulted in my hide getting tanned. Apparently, I'm thick headed.
Take for instance the bus incident. Well, there were too many of those to count. The one I'm talking about is where I made out my wedding plans.  Oh yeah. I wrote them all down. How many and who were to be my bridesmaids. Who I was going to marry. What my wedding colors were going to be. Where I was going to take my honeymoon. Every detail was mapped out on a single, solitary piece of paper, right down to how many kids I was going to have and what their names would be.
Now, I'm sure, every girl dreams of their wedding day. This, however, was a bit different. I just knew I this was going to be my wedding. Period. End of story. Come Hell or high water, I was going to marry this young boy who never even knew I existed. And we were going to have purple and green colors in a single story country church and vacation in Austrailia.
Somehow, my perfect plan escaped my notebook and ended up on the bus floor. And somehow that piece of paper ended up in the back of the bus where the cool kids sat. Imagine my embarrassment. Imagine my dispair. Imagine how furious my best friends felt when word got around that they were going to be my bridesmaids. I hadn't even asked them yet!
That day was a very lonely day. I piece of my heart was torn into shreds as the kids around me mocked and laughed at my dreams. Even my BFFs seemed to slowly seperate themselves from my company. I don't know how long it took before kids finally quit making fun of me.
If that wasn't enough, I got into trouble once during computer time at school. It was Freebie Friday. We could write whatever we wanted on the computer and even print it out. We could play a game. (Back then it was just Oregon Trail. No fancy World of Warcraft or SIMS just yet.) We could do whatever we wanted on that computer.  I knew I wanted to write a story on that computer, print it out and save it forever. I loved writing. Mom always said I should be a journalist. I could tell a story with more color than Crayola! And boy did I!
I had a crush on this boy Dean March. He was a tall, lanky kid. Dean had red hair and freckles, much like most of my uncles. He had real nice blue eyes. His teeth were a little crooked, but I liked his smile anyway. He had all sisters so I figured he'd know a thing or two about girls. And so, I wrote a story about Dean March.
I didn't know what was so bad about it until I grew up. I wrote my story about Dean March and it was a piece of writing that was so descriptive it got me kicked off the computers for the rest of the school year. I had imagined, in my mind, that one doesn't just have freckles in just the places people can see. I had bet that a person with as many freckles as Dean March had even had them in his hair. I thought he even had them inbetween his toes and armpits!! So, what could be more inclusive and descriptive than to say, "Dean Martin has freckles everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean: Everywhere." Who knew writing a few sentences about  freckles could get someone in so much trouble?