The Worst Place in the World

I’m not sure why I was thinking about this particular event from my childhood yesterday, but I was, and it made me laugh, and I thought it might make you laugh, too, so I’m going to tell you about it, whether you like it or not.  When I was a wee lass, of five or six, living in Seattle, my parents shipped me off to the YMCA day camp all summer long.  I remember very little about it, because of the aforementioned weeness, but I remember that I had a friend there named Flossie, which is a weird name, and another named Chloe, which is an unusual name, but not as weird, and I remember this one time when Flossie, Chloe and I were playing quietly near a group of counselors as they conversed.

One of the counselors was making up silly little rhymes about the others, based on their names, and apparently one of the names rhymed with Kentucky – we’ll call her Mary Ducky, because I don’t remember what it was.  It clearly wasn’t as memorable as Flossie or Chloe, at any rate.  So, the instigator of the poetry said, “Mary Ducky has been to Kentucky.”

And Mary Ducky Flipped.  Out.  She jumped out of her seat, and yelled, “Oh, my God, I have not!  Why would you say that?”  The implication, of course, is that going to Kentucky – not even being from there or anything; just having been there – was a terrible insult.  So, Flossie, Chloe, and I agreed that Kentucky must be the absolute worst place in the world, and we all vowed never to go there ourselves.   I have since broken that vow, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

I also remember that Flossie once got a nosebleed.  I don’t think it was Kentucky-related.

It is a terrible place – they have quicksand there
Image by 1861937 from Pixabay