This is often one of those funny contradictions of life. Something we all hate. Yet we all do it. Yet we don’t realize we’re doing it, until that Earth-shattering moment when we realize we do, and realize we have become the very thing we hate. Then, unlike in Hollywood, whereby we go on some kick-ass adventure shoot-em-up, in a desperate attempt to get vengeance whilst we lose our humanity in an epic battle of morality versus judgment, we just get on with our lives. Start dinner, etcetera, etcetera.
That thing is our parents. They get rid of all our stuff. We’re all like, “Oh my God, you like totally don’t understand me, and like my ideals, and like what I stand for, like in some epic fascist regime, like some totally unfair totalitarian regime, in like, a regime unlike anything the world has ever known, like against me, and like, what I believe in”. And you’re dad looks lovingly into your eyes and says, “Good, well, dinner will be five minutes”.
Then we become parents and endure the same ordeal with our own teenager with more angst than acne. Aye, the good old days of teenage kicks and a sex drive faster than your beat up old Ford Cortina chugging merrily along in third gear. I tried desperately to hold onto my childhood. Didn’t really work. I don’t think I have anything left apart from my baby stuff. Clothes, a baptism candle, Christian themed branded crap, etcetera, etcetera.
So, yes, I have some stuff from when I was a baby, but not any later than that.
The Friday Bonus Question:
Plucked from the basement of the internet, a bewildering real question that defies logic and an answer, here for you to ponder:
How do eggs breed?
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