“MUHCHELLE!” Anytime my dad changes the “I” in my name to a “u”, I know I’m in trouble. This time was no different. My crime was appalling. I confused my cousin’s head for a baseball and swung like I was hitting a homerun. He was whisked away in an ambulance and taken to the hospital to get stitches. In my defense, I was only four and I didn’t think beating him with a metal bat was a bad idea. So if my parents had named me Michelle solely for its meaning of “Who is like God?” then I’d say they’ve got a strange sense of humor. Because the truth is, I’ve spent the last 17 years doing ungodly things.

Oh, where to begin? There was the time I flooded my house, drove over my neighbor’s tiny dog (don’t worry, he missed my wheels and was unharmed), placed a centipede in my sister’s bed, ruined my mom’s antique table with nail polish remover-and my personal favorite-the time I was stopped by a cop for speeding and I pulled over to the left side of the highway. He laughed and asked if I had ever taken driver’s education.

My parents like to blame my actions on my lack of common sense. Anytime I hear “Muhhchelle!” it brings me back to that fateful day. My bawling cousin, the fuming relatives searching for me as I crouched in a bush devising my getaway. Too bad I didn’t know then what I know now. My Barbie’s were only confiscated for a week, my cousin did forgive me, and I had about 13 more years of delinquency ahead of me.