Whenever my dad asks me if I want to go grocery shopping with my mom, I always say no. It's boring and I don't like shopping. TV is way more fun. I finally went with my mom one day because I got sick of his reproachful looks.
Here's what I thought when I first entered the supermarket:
The cart is my plate and the aisles are the tables. Food waits on every shelf, and all I have to do is reach out and drop it in the cart. It's like a big party that everyone's invited to.
My mom went to the salad section first, so I got my own cart and started grabbing. There were chocolate chip cookies, animal crackers, apple juice, bagels with raisins in there, and all kinds of cereal! I took some cheese puffs, nacho-flavoured Doritos, string cheese, and three Lunchable boxes. I like the pizza kinds a lot.
Here's what my mom looked like when she saw me sitting in my cart eating a pack of oreos with some milk:
I'm not allowed to go grocery shopping anymore.
When I was turning eight years old, I remember wanting exactly eight candles on my cake. I wanted people to see that I was already almost an adult, that with age comes a greater set of lungs to blow out the flames. I actually do remember inhaling deeply, making sure I blew out all the candles with one breath. Because two breaths is too easy, it's practically cheating. And trick candles are the devil.
I also used to be a pyromaniac, which is why I loved candles so much. I loved to play with matches and lighters around the house, and I used to burn paper because the flame made things disappear right in front of your eyes.
But one time I accidentally dropped a lit match in a trash can, and the plastic bag in there caught fire. So I don't like to burn things so much.
Anyway, my point is that I don't want 22 candles on a cake next year. Please.
