Jenny Lawson’s memoir Let’s
Pretend This Never Happened has inspired me to write this blog post.
Lawson’s memoir is full of hilarious, bizarre stories from her childhood and
adulthood. Hilarious in an I’m glad that
never happened to me way, bizarre in a falling
into animal carcasses, setting ovens on fire way. Lawson prefaces the book
by saying that whenever she starts in about her childhood, people act like they
understand: “Oh yeah, my family was totally crazy.” Not this crazy, people. Not
this crazy.
I’ve decided to reminisce about some of my favorite (euphemism
for “worst”) memories. I may not have enough harrowing stories to fill a book,
but I certainly have enough to write a blog post.
I was a suicidal baby. What a terrible life it was. Being
spoon-fed my Cheerios, having someone else wipe my derrière, playing with my stuffed
goat William all day. I can hardly stand talking about it now. So you’ll
understand why I decided to end my life one night when my mother set my car
seat and me on the kitchen counter. An opportunity had presented itself, and I rocked my way off the edge and splat onto
the floor. Split my chin wide open. And I have the scar to prove it.
I was the only child kleptomaniac at my preschool. "I was a child kleptomaniac" is probably sufficient on its own, but what the hell. When you
get over the shock factor, hopefully you’ll realize how awesome this makes me.
I had a system: watch patiently and listen intently to all my
friends during show-and-tell, take mental notes of the coolest toys, then sneak into the backpack room during recess and search out the goods. I got away
with it for probably a good year before the “I won it at school” thing stopped
working on my parents. Then I started stealing cat ears from Kohl’s . . . but
that’s behind me now.
I kicked my sister down the stairs. Don’t worry, she lived.
And she totally deserved it. She CUT the ear of my favorite stuffed animal.
Clover the bunny screamed in pain and I came to her rescue. And then I avenged
her.
I could go on indefinitely, but I think I’ll stop there for
the night. The pleasant memories just make me too giddy before bed.
Bonus: CHILDHOOD PICTURE TIME!
With the little sister I pushed down the stairs.
My relationship with my grandma hasn't changed much.
The moment I stopped being patriotic.
I'm glad I can share my awkwardly personal stories with you, internet, and I hope you can relate. I'm not saying I would wish childhood kleptomania on anyone; I just hope you can relate to the bizarre sequence of events that is growing up. What a fun, scary, and painful time.

