So, I’m kind of new to this. Not new to blogs. If you know me, you’d know I’m not. At least I wasn’t. I mean I’m new to marriage. New to WordPress. New to having someone live in my bed and push me off of it.

I’m also new to this response writing. But I think it could be fun.

But I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that. At least the line in between those other lines. So, I propose that you pretened (or pretend if you prefer) like you never read that, and just read this. Starting… now!

No…

Now!

Being a kid was great. I miss it. I wish I could go back. So much better than having to work and figure out your own finances and how I’m going to be fed and what I’m going to do with myself. All I had to worry about as a kid was… well, nothing. In reality, nothing. My biggest concern was avoiding the fireplace while sliding around on the top of my head on the carpet while pushing my Optimus Prime or my Ultra Magnus. Because when my head found the fireplace, which it always did; It was always way closer than I remembered, I couldn’t figure out exactly how to let it know just to what extent I hated it, which was a lot.

Kindergarten was a hoot. I remember on like the first or second day, when we were all still getting used to the fact that our parents were so far away from us every day, a girl got sick. She put her hands up to her face to sneeze, and a lot more than sneeze came out. By which, I mean she aliens style projectile vomited through the cracks in her finger across the table.

Holy crap!

I felt so bad for her. I don’t even remember her name, or really, if I even ever saw her after that day. I felt bad because I laughed, and gagged at the same time. It was surreal. I couldn’t help but do both. But, then I felt like a jerk and I still feel hot if I think about it too hard.

Coloring was the bane of my existence. Well, that phrase might not be entirely accurate, and it is completely overused, but if I was capable of phrases like, “Coloring is balls,” I would have used them. I just couldn’t seem to get the teacher to understand that I scribbled across the cats (who wanted me to add 1 and 1 and 2 and 1. The cats. Well, I guess the teacher, but the cats were asking more directly) not because I was lazy, or didn’t understand coloring, but because it was dumb, and math and coloring weren’t related.

Boy was I pissed when I was still having to color as a senior. And I still had a hard time trying to get the teacher to see that it wasn’t because I was dumb or lazy, but coloring sucks balls, and isn’t at all related to eastern Europe, its countries, or its capitals.

Then in college, I discovered programs like Photoshop and Illustrator, and found that I had the capacity for Picasso like color… just as long as it wasn’t crayons, it wasn’t math cats, and it wasn’t eastern Europe.

It’s funny that really, my only substantial memory of kindergarten is the thing I hated most. I shouldn’t say only memory. I remember the girl, and I remember watching Beauty and the Beast (the old Ron Pearlman one) during nap time, and I remember asking Adam if I could be his friend, and his answer, “I don’t know. I already have 4, and I don’t want too many.” I also remember hiding in a pile of coats because it felt so comfy, and the Revelation of Horror that someone had peed in their snowsuit. Gross.

So, now I’m married, and I’m blogging on WordPress, and I live with someone in my bed who tries to push me off every night. But I don’t have to color, and life is good.

Oh, and before I go, this won’t be my only vomit related story.

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