fucking Prequel

You see as a kid there were a couple of essential truths you grew up knowing, such as the fact that you can run faster with light-up shoes and that knowing swear words makes you cool and dangerous. 

Now, you must know me and my cousins, who I grew up with, were always very afraid of swearing. Our parents threatened to wash our mouths with soap if we did, and honestly the thought still haunts me today! Soap, in your mouth? I mean we all know the lies parents tell you about your eyes turning square if you watch too much TV or the boogie man, but man this was some next level scare.

What else would you expect from your favorite beige sweater vest nerd? 

In conclusion, I was not perceived very dangerous and cool by my class mates, which, looking back, may also have been caused by the fact that I brought homemade snacks in a lunchbox with me..again with a dolphin on it. (What the hell was it with dolphins?).

In Kindergarden, I made a friend, who was very…special. She taught me new words I hadn’t known before, was already missing her front teeth and kissed a boy before! 

I thought she was the coolest person I’ve ever met and secretly hoped some of it would rub off on me.

My swear word vocabulary was growing from day to day and while I still necessarily wasn’t feeling like the king of the playground it helped me blend right in. When my mother picked me up this day, I again had a very important question for her, 

“Mom, what’s a Hamstaaafuckaaa* ?”, 

coming from a kid that was scared of calling someone dumb this was, well, unexpected and I am surprised we never got in a car accident with me making her hit the brakes on a daily basis. But on the other hand, I am pretty sure my mother could by now compete in a car derby and probably win. 

“Something we don’t say.”, she whispered underneath her breath and the next day we had an intense talking circle before nap time in my kindergarden group, called the rainbows, and my friend was not allowed to come over to my house anymore.
 My fifteen minutes of coolness were officially over,and I reverted back to (sometimes) calling people dumb when they took my cupcakes away during recess (please don't tell my mom).

Now the option of swear words being eliminated, I bought the brightest light-up shoes I could possibly find. 
Oh boy, remember how awesome light-up shoes are? 

Feeling particularly down because of University, I recently decided to revisit my childhood and bring back the joy you got from running so fast it felt like those little lights could really make you fly. I am very pleased to announce that they do make adult-sized light-up shoes. 

And, yes, that they are just as awesome as you remember them and also yes, people still get jealous of you for wearing them.

So here I am, twenty years old wearing fucking (look a swear word!) light-up shoes, my kindergarden-self couldn't be more proud.

*(a person that has sexual intercourse with hamsters), please don't that's not cool!

The beginning

My first A wasn’t a big surprise to my family, so weren’t the next twenty. Ever since my mother visited countless baby classes, which included me sitting on tissue paper to encourage the formation of synapses (we ended up not going anymore because I bit the paper repeatedly, which stained my mouth blue), and her reading me pretty much every book we own, the expectations were set quite high. 
Indeed, my elementary teacher noticed a quite, let’s say surprising, vocabulary for an eight year old, who raved about the gorgeous days and marvelous flowers in the school yard. However, I felt more than comfortable in my role as the smart kid, who wouldn’t want results day to be the best day of the year? I was happy to accept another certificate of participation, which you got in gym class when you pretty much weren’t any good, for another A in maths. Nonetheless, I still smirk at the sight of old friendship books, where I stated my dream job to be “CEO” written in glittery smelly strawberry marker next your classical four eye blonde girl. Or, alternatively, veterinari, which my family found too amusing to correct me about until much later (thanks again guys!). I hereby formally apologize to my former fellow classmates, who still have to see that embarrassment in their dusted friend books.
The first time my microcosm was severely shaken was when a girl named Tracey joined our class. To that time Tracey was thirteen years old. I know, there are some people that forgot what it was like being nine, but a real life teenager in class was about as exciting as a naked Balinese tiger, who was on fire, doing a headstand. Tracey was wearing a neon pink G string underneath her denim miniskirt, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear her hair was blowing in the wind, when she entered the classroom. Flashing her braces she pulled a bottle of coke light out of her east-pack backpack and casually sat down. God damn it, she was even wearing a bra! Me, in a beige sweatervest with a matching skirt and a classic baby backpack, which had dolphins on it, went bright red with shame.
It was in that exact moment when I realized, I wasn’t a cool kid and I would never in the history of mankind be one either.
Tightly holding on to my Hello Kitty binder I marched out of school to be picked up by my mom. Without a minute passing I asked her to buy me diet coke and (in a very serious tone), whether I’d have to wear “that kind of tiny underwear too” once I was a teenager, when she took a sharp breath and hit the brakes hard.
This very day, this is still a running gag in my family,
“Hey Grandma, remember when Sophie was nine and thought she had to wear a G string once she turned 13?”.