You better recognize

In the 4th grade I started a gang.  I will readily admit the elementary school Serena was a hellion and probably merely a precursor to the pain-in-the-ass I am today.

Gathering a group of my female friends from all walks of life, I convinced everyone we should be a gang to defend ourselves in the elementary school social hierarchy.  I named my gang the Let Me Call You Sweetheart Gang and set about developing our marketing campaign.  Now, at the age of 11 I didn't know the phrase marketing campaign existed, but that's exactly what I was doing.

Our name came from this t-shirt I had with Minnie Mouse on it and a button that played Let Me Call You Sweetheart when pressed.  Not exactly fear inspiring, huh?  Looking back, I can't remember the exact purpose of our gang or if we even lasted past that first playground session.  What I do remember is spinning on the merry-go-round as the tennis courts whizzed by.  I remember the lone guy in our group talking about how his cousin could hook us up with gang shirts and those satin jackets with the embroidery on the back.  Our jackets were going to be light pink satin and have a broken heart stitched on the back with the gang name.  Our jackets would have our name embroidered on the front.

I don't recall much else, but I can still feel my excitement at the thought of those jackets and how cool we would look.  I think I watched Grease too often as a child.