The Guts of another story...

Megan was the same person who at age 11 started a “no adults allowed club.” The club consisted of the President, Megan (naturally) and her faithful club members, Dana, Jonah, and me. We would sit in her room eating last seasons candy we bought from The Metropolitan (a store in our town that sold candy from holidays past at twenty-five cents a pop).  While we listened to our parent’s old records, eating old peeps, and reading Archie comics, Megan would chime in over Bob Dylan to teach me colorful phrases such as “Male Chauvinist Pig.” That didn’t go over so well with my Dad when I muttered “male chauvinist pig” at him when he wouldn’t give me extra dessert (I was five at the time). Of course at the next club, Megan put on Grateful Dead, and explained when and when not to call a man a chauvinist pig.