Personal Narrative: Half-Pint Carton Of Chocolate Milk

Imagine being a young child walking into a chocolate museum where chocolate lines the walls, you can create your own one of a kind candy bar, thousands of different types of chocolates, and chocolate bars line the walls.

One of the many offensive gender stereotype sayings is “You throw like a girl.” Men often do not want to have anything to do with that statement. In James Fallows report he states, “Having been trained (like most American boys) to dread the accusation of doing anything ‘like a girl,’ athletes were said to grow into the assumption that women were valueless, and natural prey” (138). This suggests how women are looked down upon by men and their own society when competing against men in athletics. To reach supporters of feminism and to appeal to pathos, the author uses offensive language toward women, such as “valueless” and “natural prey”. These insulting words may hit the emotions of women. With just the usage of

By now, Jennie’s life was focused on softball, though she did have a normal life outside the sport. She liked to shop, try on her mom’s makeup and hang out with her friends. In school, she was an excellent student. But softball consumed most of her free time. Every summer the sport brought her to a new part of the country for a national tournament.

Journalist James Fallows explores the art of throwing a baseball in his text “Throwing Like a Girl.” The article was published in a commentary magazine called the Atlantic in August of 1996. Fallows clearly introduces the common misconception of “throwing like a girl” and effectively debates the many different reasons for the throwing difference.

Oscar Casares made Mr. Perez a believable by describing her features “she measured five feet two inches and weighed 164 pounds,” (Casares line14) he also gives us a vivid detailed on how people watched her every time to bowl. In his short story Mr. Perez is the main character who is from a little town called Brownsville’s located in the board of Texas and Mexico. He opens the story with her at the bowling alley where everyone stops to watch her paly, Casares say “the ball’s cherry red and gold swirls made it look as if it were catching fire when released down the lane… People stopped to watch when she was up” (Casares line 2-4) in which the reader fells as if they can see her roll her ball.

When I was younger my brother would take me with him when he went to put gas in his truck and we always went to the old Flying J in south Willard. When he went in to pay for the gas he would let me come in and get a soda and I would always get a Frostie Blue Cream Soda in a glass bottle. It is memorable because I loved riding in my brother’s truck. Looking back at the memory, I am reminded of a much simpler time before the Interstate came through, when the most stressful part of my day was waiting for my brother to come home from work. Marketers can appeal to my generations’ nostalgic feelings by using glass bottles, bringing back older sodas, or by using family relationships. A script for this consumption activity could be as such: An old

Kaely Camacho, also known as Ca”Nacho Cheese”, Is someone I was close with a cared very deeply for since my early childhood. In 8th grade, the year 2012, I lost my best friend. This time I couldn’t fix it with a simple “I’m sorry”. It wasn’t expected or even properly explained. On April 13, 2012, my 13-year-old best friend died in a car accident. She had the prettiest blonde hair, and blue eyes that compared to the ocean water.

“YAY! I finally graduated! Villanova University Class of 2015!” “Now it’s time to enjoy a meal with the family.” These were words that I said the day of my graduation in May of this past year. I am sitting here now reminiscing on this very important day in my life. All this nostalgia is getting me hungry, so I decided to take a trip to the Cheesecake Factory to re-live the experience. From the outside, the Cheesecake Factory looked like a big castle; the inside was huge. The lighting was really pretty, especially at night. They have a nice cheesecake display that could be admired as soon as one enters the restaurant. I could smell the rich, decadent cheesecakes. The seating is either tables or booths. The restaurant was very inviting. The

During the marvelous summer of 2008 in the quiet, little town of Gladstone, Oregon lived a 6 year old girl who went by Kiera. Kiera Ciano was her name, that’s me, and I absolutely adored Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup. The taste, the texture, the smell, all of it, was simply incredible.

It’s sixth grade English; our teacher, Mrs. Kennedy, is diagramming sentences on the chalkboard. It’s time for another game of classroom baseball. The baseball is two millimeters in diameter. Made from a small piece of paper and spit. The bat is made of graphite surrounded by yellow lacquered cedar wood topped with a pink rubber eraser. Hey batter, batter. The student’s desk are circled around the perimeter of the room. Christy’s first in the lineup and sits up straight in her desk stepping up to the plate. Beckie pitches the spit wad ball and whoosh it’s a first-pitch strike, the wad of paper now lies in the center point of the room. The pitcher wads another ball and the batter readies herself. Here comes pitch number two. Ping,

Recently, my parents started searching for a place to buy fresh raw milk. In Illinois, raw milk is not sold in grocery stores. So my dad had to find some private farmers that are willing to sell the raw milk. After some searching, he had found an Amish farmer, 35 miles south of us who was willing to sell us raw milk. One weekend we visited their farm. I never met Amish people before, but I have heard that they live a very simplistic life. In Amish county, the roads were filled with horse carriages, friendly people waving their hands at us and wearing traditional Amish/dutch clothing. It appeared like that I was traveling back in time to the 1700s. The farm was big with a small house and many cows and other animals. The owner welcomed us and

The second that I got home I rushed to the Kitchen like an excited dog. I could smell coffee. It had tiling that was the color of coffee creamer before it was put in the coffee. The cabinets were made of a light wood. The countertops were a slightly lighter cream color than the tiling. The oven, microwave, and fridge were all white like snow. The toaster was stainless steel and black and matched the coffee maker. I quickly rushed to the cabinet and grabbed the blue and white flower bag along with the rest of the ingredients. I moved the black and stainless steel coffee maker onto a different counter and replaced it with the ingredients.

He yells at me to come to bed for the fiftieth time. “Mrrrowww,” I respond like a scolding mother. Snickers is very impatient, demanding my attention every few seconds until I cave. He is like a needy child forever whining for my undivided care. I suspect that my little package of sass and fur is more human than cat. While my little sister scarfs down her food and spills down the front of her stained shirts, Snickers is always very delicate and neat, only eating a few pieces of kibble at a time. If I am eating ice cream, he will appear at my feet in an instant, expecting me to share. If someone is making a bed, he will jump onto the unmade mattress to “help”. And by help, I mean he gets covered with a sheet and attacks your hands like he’s playing a game of whack-a-mole.

There she was situated on the bus like any other Wednesday afternoon after hearing teachers screech all day. Suddenly, she heard coach wondering if anyone was willing to take a girl's’ position; she volunteered herself. She has never been able to see that glistening blue water through her goggles because her coach didn’t think she was ready to compete. Almost getting to her destination it was her time, the day where she’ll be able to wear her uniform other than just sitting behind taking time.

Now Mrs.Rosine, you may be thinking that she would not be a problem, just maybe something that would blow over...right? Well you’re wrong. The next day at Blue Lake, I awoke. Ate a delicious breakfast. Played at rehearsals, minors, and sectionals. Then, after lunch, we journeyed to the waterfront where we were going to sit on a park bench and chat. Instead, Olivia suggested we play gaga ball, a game where the players try to extract the other people from the pit by hitting their feet when they hit the ball. Emily, Leah, and I choose to sit out since it was really too hot outside and we weren’t interested in becoming all sweaty. Nevertheless, Olivia confidently stepped into the pit. Quickly, the game started with a rush of hand and feet, running, jumping, dodging, and hitting. Olivia was doing surprisingly well, considering it was her first game.