Growing up, I guess you could say I was the very definition of a tomboy. Mousy, tree-climbing, fist-fighting, curse word slinging, tall and awkward thing I was. In class pictures? I was always in the back, in the center, because I towered over everything and everyone. It definitely made my early days of crushes and attempting to snag a boyfriend a difficult task, seeing as how every cute boy was about 5 inches shorter than me and not many boys that age are secure enough in themselves to date a girl taller than them; shit, most grown men aren’t secure enough in themselves to do that.
I have no idea when I finally came into my girly self and grew a love for makeup and shaving my legs. I certainly can’t attribute it to getting boobs because I never got those (screw you, boob-fairy!), but one day I guess it just kind of hit me that I have a vagina and perhaps I should embrace it (not literally, but you know what I mean).
The shoes and purses thing, that was never really my cup of tea- I guess old habits die hard- but everything else i’m a fan of. The clothes (NOT SKIRTS), hair, makeup, perfume, shopping; count me in.
Now, when it came to having kids, EVERYONE on the planet (and maybe the whole damn universe) knows I wanted girls. Maybe to embrace the inner-girl I shunned as my snot-rocketing younger self?
Once the anger subsided upon the arrival of my two penis-wielding boys, I began to realize I had dodged a bullet. Did I WANT to be a pretty-pretty princess? Hell no! Still not to this day! Dolls and frills and a whole sea of pepto-bismol colored clothing? No.fucking.thank you. There is a reason I avoided all of that in the first place, and it’s simply because it’s not me at ALL (granted if one of them HAD been a girl of course I would have embraced it just as I did my vagina).
Boys are much more my speed. Vulgar, gross, belching, loud, perhaps slightly obnoxious, blowing shit up and adrenaline pumping activities? Yes please.
I am the one responsible for buying them some of their most disgusting “boyish” toys, because I couldn’t wait to play with them myself.
The one i’ve been chomping at the bit to play with since before Christmas? Dr. Dreadful’s Zombie lab. Sure, Holden asked for it.. but I may have done some encouraging. My memories from a century ago when I was his age are a little fuzzy but I do remember having something similar and loving the shit out of it. Stirring up some fake brains, bugs, and barf seemed like a disgustingly good time- and today, after much hinting (from me), Holden finally asked to play with it. SCORE!
I tore open the box, put together the zombie head, and asked Holden which disgusting concoctions he wanted to make. Brains and bugs- my two favorite things.
We mixed it all up and poured it in, watched it foam and started our taste testing.
1.) Brains are sour, and I was honestly very surprised the boys tried them, being they’re a little young for the kit and not so adventurous in the eating department.
2.) The taste is not the issue. It’s not even the consistency. It’s THE SMELL. THAT SICKENINGLY SWEET DISGUSTING SMELL OF PROCESSED FAKE ‘FOOD’. It hit my nose like a diaper full of indian food would.
My inner girl suddenly came out of hibernation as I looked at the pink foamy brains overflowing onto my kitchen table, and the kids gobbling down gummy bugs, and I got the strongest urge to vomit that i’ve had since the last time I had the stomach flu. It took literally everything within me to hold it down.
I yanked out the household cleaners and started scrubbing the house down as fast as I could to get the smell out… but hours later, it still remains; and hours later, I AM STILL NAUSEOUS!
Never again! Next time I say I wan to play with Zombie brains, remind me that I am a card-carrying, vagina-having woman… Or you could just remind me that I have a weak stomach.
I think I would take the pepto-pink-pretty-pretty-princess-covered-in-frills-Barbie over Zombie Brains.
However… the bugs can stay.
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