Baffling Tales

Goody Two-Shoes

I was born into a large family. I'm sure that you have heard of other "large families," but there are dynasty books for peerage that are less complicated than my family tree.

I was a seventh son of a seventh son several times over. And every last one of my family members are genuinely good. I'm not talking about just going through the motions kind of good, either. I had rescuers, therapy workers, and the kind of unwavering loyalty that gets recognized and respected by royalty.

And then, there was me.

To say that I wasn't like the rest of my family would be a gross understatement. I, for lack of a better word, was a hellion. At least, that's what I told myself. I was the only one who did, though. To everyone else, I was just. like. the. rest. Do you have any idea just how irritating that is?

Just how much of a bad boy was I?

For my first birthday, my family and I went to the beach. Whenever a seagull got near us, I would chase it down, running and shouting expletives. Not enough for you? I also made certain that anytime a sandcastle was built, I'd ram bodily into it, destroying it, regardless of how much time had been spent on the building. My antics that day were labeled "charming" and provoked laughter.

Still not understanding the situation I lived in? Try this – when I was five, I came across a kitten who had obviously been tortured by kids. We're talking edge of death for this cat. So, feeling that showing this almost-corpsicle off to my family would finally show them what kind of badass I was, I grabbed the dying kitten and carried it home. You know what my family did? Threw me a party for being such a hero, and adopted the feline. Yeah. That's what I was up against.

So, you can imagine my discomfort when, on my tenth birthday, I was brought onto the local air force base. I had been getting some training by one of my relatives on how to better identify drug runners. Don't ask - he was one of those kinds who didn't believe that any knowledge was wasted.

We're waiting at the entrance gate and a car drives up. Now this was a normal looking, high end vehicle, and wasn't really all that suspicious. But I had been playing with a toy on the ground, and was level with one of the wheels, and noticed that it just looked wrong.

Instantly figuring that the driver wasn't "on the level," I stood up slowly and approached the car. I wanted to make a deal, so I started fast talking as best I could. Unfortunately, my actions were taken as another "heroic" act, as this landed the would-be drug dealers in jail.

So, now, you understand just how shocking it is to me, after a lifetime of trying my hardest to be the one and only hoodlum my family had ever had, I'm finding myself at these pearly gates.

Being offered a dog bone and being told how much of a good boy I've been. It's just so hard to be a German Shepherd.