Kali
Let me tell you a bit about my childhood. Don’t worry, I’m not
going to bore you with some whiny tale of woe, far from it. As a kid, I
never saw the point of dolls or child-size versions of kitchen utensils or any
of the other stuff girls were supposed to play with (even now, I have the
maternal instinct of a Great White ­ they eat their young!). I
remember one girl showing off her doll to me (“look, you feed her and she pees
in her nappy”) and me thinking ‘what’s the point of that?’ My most prized
possessions were my western replica toy gun and my plastic lightsaber (we’re
talking the 70’s here).
I spent many happy hours playing in the cemetery behind my house.
While other girls read sappy girlie comics, I read Misty, a horror comic for
girls (incredibly dark considering the age group it was aimed at and sadly
defunct ­ I guess there just weren’t enough strange little girls
around). Not that I actually wanted to be a boy (I sulked for days when my
mum made me get my long hair cut short), I just envied their freedom and the
fact they had cooler toys. There was this kid in my class at primary
school called Alan; every morning, without fail, he’d cry and wail “I want my
mummy!” One day, he didn’t cry and as a reward, he was given a present in
at assembly the next day. I was outraged ­ the rest of us hadn’t
cried, yet we got nothing. Surely rewards should be given to those who’d
done something to deserve them? Apparently not. And you know
what? I haven’t changed!
Country: United Kingdom
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