During a recent school night session with some old co-workers, the conversation turned to growing up and childhood pastimes.
Claire: So I named my budgies Popcorn and Peanuts, and when they died, I buried them in my fairy garden.
Me: What the hell is a fairy garden?
Claire: You didn’t have a fairy garden?
Julia: I guess your parents just didn’t love you enough.
Claire: If it makes you feel any better, my parents eventually turned my fairy garden into a Japanese stone garden.
Me: No, that doesn’t make me feel better. I hate all your North Shore problems. I played with empty cardboard boxes and tupperware containers as a child. I didn’t even know what a Barbie was until I started school. I had a sandpit full of dirt and everything I owned was a hand-me-down of some kind from my brother.
Julia: Is that why you dress badly?
Me: Fuck you.
Too many of my conversations like this. I still want that fairy garden though.
According to the internet, this is what I missed out on.
Ugh. My parents were soooo mean. My mother had me convinced that raw cookie dough tasted like medicine until I was old enough to wonder why she was eating it all herself if it was so gross.
Did you have a fairy garden? Or were your parents bad people too? What is the phone number for DOCS?