Yeah, yeah. In some ways I have that “old soul” thing going on (though I find that expression to be fundamentally jive). Lately, however, some form of latent immaturity has started to kick in. For instance, I recently walked into a conversation at work among a group of people who were discussing the joy–and excitement of–a pregnant coworker. The conversation came to an abrupt halt when I pointed out how weird it was that she was growing a little penis in her stomach. Well, she is! Maybe it makes sense to be working my way backward. I was kind of an old woman as a little kid. I loved cats and my own company. Getting into my jammies was usually the highlight of my day. However, I was a complete insomniac, which isn’t a disorder one normally associates with childhood. While most little girls were sawing logs wrapped in their Strawberry Shortcake sheets, I was wide awake at 3:00 A.M., fretting that I’d lost my hot-lunch ticket and the lunch lady with the hairdo that looked like a roast was going to yell at me. Everyone says, “What’s the hurry to grow up?” Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that life is ass when you’re fifteen? Fake IDs saved my life at a time when seeing bands meant more to me than any prom or college application. There was nothing more satisfying than waking up for school with a smudged ink stamp on my hand, which I was careful not to wash off. Listening to girls on the school bus chirping about their latest crushes, all I could think was, “Dude, last night I somehow passed for twenty-one, saw Brad Brains, and had to climb through a basement window when I got home.” I think they missed out. They think I missed out. What do you think?
Email Mary at popularcreeps@yahoo.com
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