Story time!!! Every once in a while I feel the need to tell random stories about my life or even random silliness I see as I go about my day. Today's silliness is the fight I saw between two nine year olds outside of Target. It was freaking hilarious but before I could run inside and buy popcorn to eat while I watched, their mom broke them up. But anyway it reminded me of my first fight. The story goes as follows:

One summer day when I was about 14, my older brother decided a lengthy pummeling was a reasonable response to a comment I had made about a sauce he was making in the kitchen. Cooking was about the only thing we had in common. I asked him if the funky sauce he was making was a poor attempt at copying a sauce that I made the previous night.

Before I continue, I will have the record show that my first fist fight was about a homemade condiment and not just any condiment.......it was honey mustard.......I was about to get my ass kicked over some honey mustard!!! With that clarification, I invite you to continue.

I assume he misinterpreted my inquisitive tone for a condescending one (I'm not sure why) and felt it necessary to call me a few choice words that sounded nothing like my name. The verbal assault was immediately followed by a series of shoves like one's you would see between two young boys in a school yard or apparently Target, but instead they were between two 6ft., one hundred and seventy pound teenagers. I made the mistake of thinking that some shoving would be the worst of it. It was at that moment that he grabbed my neck, put me in a headlock and attempted to bash the top of my head into a section of concrete wall protruding from the entrance to the kitchen. Gotta love the affect of action movies on the male perspective. Luckily, I had grown two inches earlier that year which were accompanied by a few solid pounds of muscle thanks to the Junior Dumbbell Set I recently purchased from our local sporting goods store. In the last few seconds before impact I managed to over power him and slip out of his grip. All I remember was balling up my fist, shutting my eyes, and swinging with every ounce of rage I had in my adolescent body. I felt a thud in my knuckles which was accompanied by what sounded like someone had tried to tenderize steak with a sledge hammer. When I opened my eyes and saw my brother he simply looked lost. It was as if he wasn't quite sure where he was. From his slowly blackening left eye I deduced that my first punch was a success. Yay for me!!! I am blackspoon, hear me roar!!!!