Weird confession{s} pt 3

When I was a kid I often pretended I was dead. I’d lay for hours under a tree in the yard or on my floor. My family probably thought I was such a day dreamer.

I did have a good sense of the dramatic though.


Once on a beachside holiday, a couple of guys in a van pulled up and asked me to go for a drive. I was about 8. I instinctively moved back and away from the van and ran back to the flat we were staying in. For years, I believed the men had been sent by my birth family to take me to them (because they alternately lived in a mansion/were crimelords/were in hiding/were famous so no one could know.) When, as a teenager, I was followed home by some guys in an old car. I told my mum that I was worried it was my birth family. She couldn’t believe I was so naive and disabused me of the notion. I felt like such a dill.


I once thought I had superpowers because I could see the rain. It was my brother’s turn to highlight my stupidity in this case. That’s hilarious now when I think about it even though I was about 5 at the time. To be fair to 5-year-old me I do believe I have latent water-divining skills that I could develop if ever the writing/boss lady thing doesn’t pan out.


I remember the day when I found out that each country had different money. I went to school and told everyone as though I had uncovered a government conspiracy. I was 7. There were kids in the class who didn’t believe me. The next day my teacher brought some US currency in. It was a big day.


At 8, my friend and I thought we were going to be fashion models because…oh, this is a pearler…because when we walked we put one foot in front of the other. I am not sure what we thought non-models did with their feet.

Spoiler, neither of us became models.


Feature Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

2 Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.