As a little girl I hated to get dirty. All my life I've heard the story about the time I "ran away" from home. I was mad at my Mom and said I was running way. Mom wisely didn't argue with me, but watched from a window as I carried my little suitcase and walked down the sidewalk. It had been raining earlier in the day and there was a mud puddle at the end of the walk. She said I walked to the end of the walkway but when I came to the mud puddle, I paused, looked around then turned and walked back to the house. As I came in the door, she asked me why I had returned. My answer was I couldn't leave, I'd get my shoes dirty.
That trait did not last I'm afraid.
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Later
D


