I am completely incapable of remembering my first of anything. Well, with a few obvious exceptions, of course. My first day of school? Not a chance. My first visit to the circus? Nope. It’s as if my brain needs a certain amount of repetition in order to make an event worth remembering. Not that the school-thing hasn’t been repeated a gazillion times, but I’ve already mentioned something about my presence of mind in classes, haven’t I?
My first kiss: One of the few firsts that I’m able to remember. Mostly because it was horrible. I was five years old and in the woods, playing with the boy who lived next door to us, and he wanted to kiss. Since I couldn’t come up with anything better to do, I said yes. He then tried to make my teeth cave in, using his lips. Afterwards he wanted to kiss me again, and I ran like never before.
A lovely barbeque: my friend, Tommy, and I decided that we wanted to have a bbq. It seemed like a very adult thing to do, and we were, after all, nearly eight years old. It was high time we started doing grown-up stuff. The fact that we didn’t have any food didn’t face us at all. Who needs food when you have large bits of Styrofoam? We had a strong suspicion that our parents would interfere with our brilliant plan, should we be seen while burning something, so we found a perfect hiding place underneath his father’s big truck. Of course someone ended up seeing the smoke and they completely freaked out. Just because we were underneath the gas tank. Talk about being overly sensitive.
Thorboy: he was my doll. I hated to play with dolls when I was a kid. Thorboy, however, was an anatomically correct boy doll. That’s right – he had a little thingy. Not only that, he came equipped with a little bottle which you could fill with water and use to feed him. The water would then run through his little doll body and out of his little thingy. In the end, I ran so much water through poor Thorboy, he rotted on the inside and my mum threw him away.
When my alarm goes off in the morning, I have to press the snooze button twice, otherwise I feel like I haven’t fully enjoyed my morning snooze time. However, that means that I don’t get up until 20 minutes after the alarm goes off for the first time. Sooo… I now set my alarm 20 minutes earlier, just so that I can push the snooze button. Yes, I know I’m sick.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling domestic, I bake doggie cookies (yes, there is such a thing). Baby porridge is a key ingredient in these little culinary canine delights. Also, my dog has a baby toothbrush – right now it’s a purple one in the shape of Barney the dinosaur - for when I need to clean her teeth (that guy who claimed that there was nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning, never woke up with a dog breathing on him). One day I met this lady by the grocery isle, who had apparently snuck a peek into my shopping basket on previous occasions, and she starts talking to me. Suddenly she asks me about my baby. My brain tries to run away screaming. In stead I simply say that I’ve never had a baby, offering no explanation to the baby stuff in my little, blue basket, although she looked very curious indeed (Hellholers are very curious people). She probably thought I was going to eat it myself. Serves her right.