The Snowball Fight

My parents and I went to visit my brother, who was working in Yosemite at the time. It was around winter-time, and there was snow, wondrous, glorious, beautiful snow.

My brother and I decided we would have a snowball fight. Of course, he automatically had an advantage over me, because I had little experience with snow, due to snow deprivation from living in places where it rarely snows. He, on the other hand, had lived in many places where it snowed frequently.

While I worked feverishly to form my misshapen snowballs, which weren't really balls at all, my brother was forming his superior snowballs. We soon began the battle. My terrible aim, which has made many a P.E. teacher pity me, or pity themselves for being stuck with an untalented, non-athletic person like me, prevented me from hitting him with many of my mutant snow lumps.

Meanwhile, my brother was making excellent progress. I was hit a few times, and finally one of the snowballs hit me right in the face. My brother stood before me, brushing the snow from my face, while I blindly punched him in the stomach and he said, "I'm trying to help you!"

Needless to say, my brother won the Great Snow War of Yosemite, and the Armed Forces declared me to be 4-F. Today, I prefer to sit in front of the heating vent, drinking Nesquik and reminiscing about my glory days. I then proudly show my guests the medal I was awarded before I was retired from the 76th Battalion of the Iced Forces, which is inscribed, 'In honor of Meowmocha, who survived despite her total incompetence'.