Friday, April 24, 2015

Confessions of a Ten Year Old

Mom, remember back when the vase broke and I blamed it on the dog? I lied. We have no dog.

That time the toilet was clogged and it turned out that the pipes were stuffed with full pieces of broccoli? That's how it came out.

When I put a cockroach down Uncle Jim's shirt? He told me to. The cockroach, I mean.

Remember when I said the dog ate my homework? I lied. I ate it. Also, we have no dog.

Sometimes during the night, when everyone's asleep, I sneak into the kitchen and have a drink of water.

When I say I don't know how to do that math problem, I really mean I hate the fact that this universe has to add up.

That girl who I threw that rock at and gave a concussion? She's my one true love. We're getting married as soon as she gets out of hospice and turns 21. 

When you walked in on me sucking my finger and scolded me for acting like a baby? I was actually just picking my nose and eating it.

When I baked those really weird tasting muffins? That was cocaine, not flour. And they were technically patties.

I don't actually go to sleep when you want me to. I just stay awake, lying there. For minutes. Dreaming.
Oh. Wait.