You know how you’re finally on this vacay you’ve been looking forward to, like, forever, and all the viruses everywhere decide to hold their very own virus-con in your lungs? Yep. That’s what’s happened to yours truly.
I was fine one minute. The next? Sneezing and coughing my kidneys out like a tuberculosis patient. Ugh. It’s so bad, I can’t even talk. Or breathe. I’m just going to be sneezing my way to Palestine now. How amazing. Eff you, pollen allergy. But then, I can’t blame pollen, really. Plants need to bow chica wow wow too. Right?
Everybody spring cleans. My Mum? Winter-summer-fall-monsoon-and-spring cleans. She made me clean out my giant bookshelf and my desk and my room in general, and I discovered Barbie dolls, and their kids, and their pets, and way too many memories came flooding back.
When I was little, I wanted a dog. Much like every other kid. My Dad said no. And no matter how ballistic I went, he just wouldn’t budge. He told me I was one of those people that don’t take separation well, and that he couldn’t handle a depressed kid (little did he know that I’d grow into a depressed adult anyway and maybe that dog would have helped) and got me dollhouses that came with pets.
So yes, a major part of my childhood involved plastic animals with lead paint. Which totally accounts for my brain damage.
(Oh no. I have brain damage. Help.)