Tales of a Smarty Pants

I found an old journal of mine, one of many that have the first twelve pages filled followed by a hundred that are empty.  One of the few entries was from five years ago, and the memory made me laugh.  Also, I'm too lazy to think up anything new, so here it is:

I saw my eight-year old self at the playground last night.  As Belinda and Bill threw and swung at T-Ball practice, Julia and I hit the playground equipment.  There, I saw the kid I'd have been if I were a boy.  Just the tiniest bit chubby and with the short, puffy hair I know so well, he was playing Frisbee keepaway with three other boys (and I could tell they were only playing with him because it was his Frisbee).  He (who could have been me) fell and said, "I think I hurt my cranium."  One of the normal boys asked, "What's that?"  My silent answer was, "Head."  He (who could have been me) answered, "It's a part of the skull.  You know....cranium, maxilla, mandible..."  Later, sitting next to the normal boy on the playground mountain, he (who could have been me) asked, "Did you hurt your phalange?"  The other boy looked disgusted and said, "Why do you say that?  It sounds dumb."  It took me thirty years to learn that people don't particularly like it when you have all the answers.