IMP

My kindergarden teachers name was Miss Vacca (pronounced Vodka), tell me that wasn't foreshadowing. I loved her, and I loved kindergarten. I remember bringing home my very first report card, and feeling like such a big girl. I was prepared for praise and perhaps a small gift, because my older sister had brought home report cards many times and then was allowed to choose what we were having for dinner. Already planning in my head what to allow my mother to feed me that night (macaroni and cheese, for sure) I proudly handed over my pink slip, signed by Miss Vacca.

My mother did not swoop me into my arms and tell me she was unworthy as I had imagined she would on my walk home. Instead she stared at the paper that would determine my evenings fate, with a look of puzzlement.
"Where is the dictionary?", she said allowed.

My sister J leaped into the living room with a small pocket dictionary, and staying true to her first child character, asked my mother what to look up.

"Imp" replied my mother, who at this point was looking at me with a look that I recognised. It was the same look that I got when I pierced my friends ears with one of my sisters earrings. This wasn't going to be good.

"Imp- A little devil or demon, a mischievous devil child."
Uh oh.
My mouth stopped salivating for home made mac and cheese. My hopes of getting to go to Rye Beach Pharmacy and picking out a toy vanished. Miss Vacca my allie, my friend, had written

"Although we enjoy having Morgan in the class, she has a tendency to be a bit impish".

Me? Impish?

From that day foward, I dreaded report card day. One time, I even intercepted the mail so that my father wouldn't see my history grade until after the weekend. I never was a scholar. I was the second child, the social butterfly, the party girl. I am there for you if you need a laugh. I make a hell of a Cosmo and I'm a damn good mom. In a nut shell I guess you could say that I am an always will be, well, a bit of ...an imp.