I was, and still am, a strange child.

Published January 21, 2013 by Britt

Let’s go back about sixteen years of my life. I was a cute baby. A blonde, almost bald baby.

And my parents should have known I would turn out really strange.

My first word was not “mama” or “dada.” It was credit card. Yes, you read that correctly. I would point at a MasterCard or Visa logo at the store and say “cre-ca!” That was sign one.

Sign two should have been the wooden hammer. Oh yes, that’s always a bad sign. We had this furry Pekingese named Midget. He was happily playing with me in the living room, and my parents were somewhere else, and all of a sudden they heard this loud CRACK.

Yes. I had taken the wooden hammer and bashed it on my dog’s head. He ran and hid. He avoided me for the remainder of my childhood, and the brief time he remained with my sister’s childhood. The hammer was confiscated along with the Sesame Street toy it went with. I never saw it again.

When I was two I learned two major things in my life: I learned how to read and how to work the VCR. Now working the VCR wasn’t that much of a challenge: just shove the tape in and push buttons until it played. Reading however, as far as I’ve been told I just picked up a newspaper and figured it out. I’m not sure how that went, but I did it.

In pre-school I faintly remember one time when my grandmother came to pick me up and I got in the car with her keys. I locked her out, and being three or four years old, I wasn’t very helpful in getting out. I faintly remember firemen coming. I also drove my grandfather’s truck to the end of the road sitting on his lap!

In kindergarten, I cut my hair. Now this I remember vividly. I was told I could watch a movie in bed that night, and my movie ended while I was waiting for my parents to come and kiss me goodnight. I got bored, and I decided to give my stuffed Sully toy a haircut. After several snips, I got bored with that and decided to cut my own hair. When I was finished with myself, I looked like a cancer patient, or so my parents say. There was hair and blue fuzz all over my room, and my parents freaked out. I ended up going the next day to this random kids hair salon to try to clean it up. I watched a Wiggles movie. I had an unhealthy obsession with the yellow one.

Also in kindergarten, according to my parents I got beat up because I sang “The Wheels on the Bus” on the school bus. I don’t remember this happening. I must have psychologically blocked it or something.

In first grade, I had a sleepover birthday party. I invited so many girls and I was so excited. They all get there, and we’re up in my room bored, and we decided to jump from my bed down to my bean bag chair. The bean bag chair exploded. There were little white foam beans everywhere. We got caught when we tried to bring the vacuum cleaner upstairs, and being seven-year-olds, that thing is HUGE. It’s still huge for me.

And that’s about all I can remember that’s strange of my childhood. Now in Spanish class I’m the strange child that gives a speech about turtles who had nuclear radiation issues and decide to kill all the humans and shove those six pack holder thingys around their necks and that’s why we should pick up all the garbage. She also caught me talking to a friend before class and squealing about how shiny and pretty my Neil Gaiman book is. Seriously. It’s gorgeous. I’ll post pictures at my first review, because it is SO PRETTY. I CAN’T GET OVER IT.

I also want to drive a monster truck. Get on my level.

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