Hey There Little Red Riding Hood

Tucked away somewhere in my suppressed conscious are the details of my acting debut.

In kindergarten, our class was due to give a "play" for parent's night, and despite what I'm sure was an excellent attempt at snagging that scarlet cloak, I lost it to the girl who actually owned one. (The budget was tight and my past Halloween picks didn't serve me well here.) Still, my acting merits won me a role in the 20-minute kiddie indie.

It wasn't the fact that I was playing a bed-ridden, infirm old woman who is eaten by a wolf that bothered me. No. It was the fact that I had to wear my pajamas in front of the whole class that made my stomach tie up in knots. On principle, I refused to go barefoot to leave some dignity intact. I wore a full length night dress and bonnet, and much to my horror, was forced to hug the smelliest boy in the class who played the role of the woodsman due to his enormous size, I'm sure.