Many years ago, a couple of my sisters bought me a whip while traveling out West. It’s odd enough that siblings would purchase a whip for me, but I am now left with the position of finding a location for said whip. For relatively innocuous reasons it has ended up in a storage area in our house that is being called “The Childhood Memories Closet.” I can only imagine the bizarre set of circumstances soon to transpire that will end up with Child Services paying my rather perplexed parents a visit.