1. I think I was seven.
    But it's a little fuzzy. The age isn't relevant.
  2. I have a summer birthday, so my friends and I were playing outside.
    This is way before the days when people rented a bounce house for their kids. We were just running in my small backyard, yelling and cartwheeling and look-at-me-ing.
  3. At some point, we all went in my playhouse.
    My dad and my grandpa built my playhouse when I was visiting my maternal grandparents for a week. The playhouse was probably about 5'x5', it had sliding plexiglass windows, and a front door with a window. No plexiglass in that window, though. This is relevant.
  4. My dad was sitting in a plastic, folding lawn chair.
    You know the kind. They can fully recline, so you're lying down. The back and foot rests can each be adjusted. They're made out of what looks like a million vinyl strings. You can picture it, right? Ours were yellow and white.
  5. He was wearing jean cutoff shorts. Because 80s. Duh.
  6. He had the hose.
    He was aiming at the playhouse.
  7. We were trapped.
    We were sitting ducks, and although we complained and begged for mercy and insisted he stop, we loved it. We were giggling and plotting our escape.
  8. I peeked out the plexiglass-less window and got blasted by the hose.
    It mattered not that I was the birthday girl. That I was his only child, his baby girl. If anything, all of that just egged him on.
  9. And he laughed.
    He laughed and laughed and laughed. So did I. It's one of my favorite memories of my dad. He was playful and funny. He never let me off easy. He was as good as they come.