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Thirty-five years ago this week, a six-year-old Christine O’Donnell, high on Twinkies and Pop Rocks, showed up at the kickball game of a classmate and ended up spending the afternoon in his rumpus room. Here’s the story of his escapade with the would-be Delaware senator.
I barely knew Christine when she turned up at my kickball game during recess. It was Halloween, 1975. We’d met for the first time only three months earlier when she sashayed into Mrs. Monroe’s elementary school class. Every boy in the class turned to stare, but not me. No, I was immune to her charms. In fact, I hadn’t thought of her since, not once, despite the fact that she sat in front of me and taunted me with her mesmerizing ponytail.
Yet here she was watching my kickball game, standing there with a friend. And both of them were on a sugar rush, flying high on Twinkies and Pop Rocks — a deadly combination.