I'm Scary. Be Afraid... Be Very Afraid.

I might develop a bit of a complex.

Three times within four days, I had someone make a comment in regards to my "strength". And I'm using that term very loosely here folks.

I grew up scrawny. Exercising, or lack of it, didn't do anything. My nickname was "toothpick". Now there's nothing to be jealous of, so don't be calling me skinny b*tch! I was awkward and klutzy and not graceful in any way. I was, and I still am. (Awkward, klutzy and ungraceful that is - no so skinny anymore - durn pregnancies.)

After three years of working in a lumber yard, especially when the forklift isn't running, I've apparently developed a little arm muscle. You have too look hard to see it though, but at least I don't break out in a sweat just thinking about some of the stuff I have to move occasionally.

Incident one: I helped the Scouts fill 50 pound sandbags for their fundraiser. We loaded them on trucks and delivered them to various gas stations. By hand; no big deal, there was lots of kids to help get it done. Apparently one scout master was telling the other one later about how I was tossing them around. Yeah, right - just a little exaggeration there. But it was nice to know that I was more helpful than not.

Incident two: Helping a customer load a couple beams onto their trailer. He mentioned that he didn't want to get on my bad side.

Incident three: Helping another customer, he mentioned he didn't want to run into me in a dark alley.

*Grin* I'm a scary b*tch.

So where is that bully from high school now? I'm ready meet her on the playground...

What, a no-show? Wuss.