Ah, childhood. The time in your life when you get to play, birthdays are the best ever, and your only worries are things like what you get to eat for dinner and how much TV you get to watch.*

Oh, and the time in your life when – if you’re like me – you eat a lot of random shit you really shouldn’t eat.

Like what?

Let me tell you.

Dirt.
Dirt.

Good ol’ fashioned dirt. When I was a youngster, I apparently couldn’t get enough of it. When asking my mom about the crazy stuff I ate when I was a kid, she didn’t even mention dirt. Then I was like, “Didn’t I eat a lot of dirt or something?” and she went, “Oh, pft, that was like, normal for you.”

Yum.

Lipstick.
Lipstick.

I had a lipstick obsession. I definitely ate my Disney Little Mermaid “cherry” flavoured lip balms, too, but those tasted good. Why I ate my mom’s lipsticks like there was no tomorrow, I simply cannot tell you. Maybe the bright colours reminded me of candy (and we all know by now how I feel about candy), but you’d think after one, I’d realize that lipstick is gross.

Nope. My mom even tried to seal them away from me in a plastic Tupperware container. I found my way in and I ate her lipstick anyway. In her words, “I didn’t have a damn lipstick that wasn’t bitten!”

Sorry, Mom.

Speaking of candy…

Halloween Candy.
Halloween Candy.

Yes, eating Halloween candy is perfectly normal. But here’s the thing: every year, I powered through my own Halloween candy and then I would eat my brother’s. My brother, the ever organized, smart one, would ration out his Halloween candy. He’d seal it in large Ziploc bags and save it forever. Sometimes, he’d still have candy left when the next Halloween rolled around! INSANE!

Anyway, we shared a room and I knew where he hid it. I thought I was being subtle. I was not.

Sorry, Bro-yan.

A Contact Lens.
A Contact Lens.

This is probably the story that takes the cake.

(If only I had just been eating cake…)

I say “a” because I only made it through one contact lens – well, half a contact lens – before I realized it was a bad idea. I was about two, I think. Maybe three. My mom came into the bathroom to see me propped on the toilet seat. Her contact case was open and I had a very weird look on my face, like I’d bitten into a lemon.

“Oh my god, Andrea – open your mouth!”

I stuck out my tongue and there it was, bitten in half.

Of course, my mom didn’t have normal, easy-to-replace contacts. She had a strong, special prescription. And it was the 80s. Contacts were still crazy expensive.

Oh shit.

(Thank goodness she still likes me.)

Eventually I learned not to put weird shit in my mouth. And also not to eat candy that doesn’t belong to me.

xA

P.S. Thank goodness I wasn’t one of those kids who ate small pieces of toys or quarters. I had more sense than that. No offense if you did that, obviously. Because if you did, I want to hear all about it.

P.P.S. REMEMBER THIS FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD, WESTERN CANADA?!

*In a very privileged world, of course.

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