Don't make me break open a can of Whoop-ass!

I've been a tomboy most of my life. Don't get me wrong, I love dressing up and wearing make-up and I don't like to play rough sports, but I've always enjoyed the company of men much more than women. Through the years, I've found there are two distinct groups of women who wanted to be friends with me: the ones who are using me to get to my brother and the ones that find me so entertainingly brusque, they hang out just to see what I will do next.
Until I moved to Switzerland, I really liked playing with Barbies and playing house. The fact I had a brother instead of a sister never stopped me; I would make David dress up in my clothes, curl his hair and make him have tea with me and my stuffed animals...all this done under the threat of severe bodily harm. Once I was in the land of chocolate and Ricola, things changed drastically. All I wanted to do was hang out outside, run, ride my bike...and beat up boys. It was like a sport for me, a drug that would keep me going for the whole day. When other girls were flirting with boys and writing notes, if I found out a guy liked me, my response was to beat the living hell out of him. I even liked some of them, but the only way I knew how to show affection was with a nice punch in the face or a well placed kick in the groin. Soon, I became an equal opportunity ass-kicker, not only limiting my fists of fury to encounters with boys, but also including girls in the mix.
One of my most memorable tussles was with my brother's wife, Dorothy. They were both in 4th grade, even back then my brother had the hots for her, but he was really, really shy. My brother had just passed an exam with flying colors and their teacher had complimented him in front of the whole class. Dorothy started calling him "teacher's pet", then got the rest of her girlfriends to join in endlessly taunting my brother. This went on for days, before school, after school and during recess. Finally one day, I had enough. I saw my brother almost crying in a corner and decided to confront Dorothy. It was during recess, she was holding hands with three or four friends and I nicely asked her to stop bothering my brother. She obviously thought it was funny, that this little girl a year younger than her would dare speak to her, much less threaten her. She brushed me off and began making fun of me, when I decided to bring out the guns. She didn't even have time to flinch, I was on top of her, fists flying and feet kicking, like a furious ass-kicking storm. A teacher saw what was happening and quickly separated us. Needless to say, she never bothered my brother again...but he was really pissed at me, because now there was no chance she would like him, either.
I made lots of enemies behaving this way; one of them was Dominique Blanc. He was about 2 years older than me and about 50lbs heavier. Looking back, I think he was also mildly retarded, but that didn't stop him from beating up kids just for fun. He lived right by my house and everyday, he would wait for my brother and I to walk home from school, hiding in bushes, to beat us up. We would run home as fast as we could to avoid him. One day, I told David the two of us could certainly take him on, if we combined forces. Dominique jumped out of the bushes and I faced him, fists up, jumping around like Ali, ready for my brother and I to take him down. "Come on, dude, bring it on, we're going to whoop your ass!" He looks at me and says: "Oh, yeah? You and what army?" I turned around just in time to notice my brother had ran away and was screaming at Dominique: "Beat her up! Take her out!" Yeah, that's right, my brother the wimp was actually telling my archenemy to beat me up. I took advantage of his confusion by throwing one hard punch right at his nose, then ran like hell, looking back to make sure he wasn't chasing me....and ran face first into a huge pile of cow dung.
It worked though, 'cause Dominique Blanc never bothered us again... but my brother got the beating of a lifetime. From me.