There are several books that I clearly recall reading as a young girl that have left their imprint on who I was then, and I believe also, who I am now. One such book was ‘The Boxcar Children’. I clearly remember wishing with all my might that my parents would commit some unforgivable parenting mistake, then I, along with my older brother and my younger sister, would have an accecptable reason to vej**nture off into the woods to discover an old boxcar that we would soon call home. Howver, my story still seemed a little bit dull. If it was truly going to be a reflection of me, it still needed a little something. This is the part where ‘Pippi Longsticking’ jumps feet first into my tale. Now SHE was certainly not boring, and now I had cool, super long, striped socks AND a monkey and a horse to ride around on. This was how it should be in my boxcar tale.
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