Over a year ago, my mom and dad decided to clean clutter out of their own house and, in an attempt to streamline, they went ahead and gave me boxes of things they had saved from my childhood -- if I'm honest, things I didn't really expect I see until they died or something gruesomespice like that. Whatever, it's fine. I'm not complaining about it, even though it isn't like I really have the room in my house for boxes of cards I was given when I was five, or worksheets and stories I wrote in the second grade. I hadn't even really dug into those boxes until last night. I found one little "story" I wrote (and we'll use the word story lightly here) called MY FUCHER. (It took me a minute to realize I'd meant MY FUTURE.) Hilar. My Fucher I want to mary a boy who will stay home all day and clean the house. I would not stay home. I would work as a singer or hope to. I want to have a babey girl. I would name her Lynn or Trecey or Nciol. I woul...
FILE UNDER: TO BE READ PILE
Comments