Little red wagon

When I was a little girl, my baby brother got a wagon for Christmas. It was so cute. J couldn't say "w", so he loved his yagon.

I loved his yagon too, and played with it as much as I could. But I was a girly girl, so I had to make do with my Barbie motorhome (really, those were hard times. Sigh).

Today, I got my own yagon. It's no Radio Flyer, but I'm fond of the wood sides. Makes it somehow more practical, for a thirty-five year-old girl, off to get her geraniums.

I especially loved all the "help" I got to assemble it.

Am I a super-extraordinary dork if I admit that after successful assembly, I pulled it around the yard? Several times?

P.S. The turkey burgers were fan-diddely-tastic. Gotta get me some of those.

Edited to add: I phoned my mom to tell her about the yagon, and she squealed with happiness. She also said that it would be good for me, in that I would no long carry heavy stuff.

Then I called J, and the little (well, not so little anymore, since he started outweighing me about fifteen years ago) stinker says he's doesn't remember having a yagon. But the wood sides are "stockracks." Argh. Suddenly, revenge is not so sweet. When Mini J comes to visit, I'm going to pull her in the yagon forever, if she so chooses.