Given my post from yesterday, there will probably never be a more appropriate time to share this. Enjoy!
Now that I’m a grown and semi-mature adult, I’m starting to realize what a strange child I was. I’m writing down some of these memories mainly so that my children will know it runs in the family.
When I was 8 my family moved into a house that we ended up remodeling from top to bottom. When it came time to do my room, one of the first “new” things that was installed was a ceiling lamp. Here’s the thing – as an eight year old witnessing my room being transformed before my eyes, I became abnormally attached to everything that was installed. Like, when the crummy floors were covered in beautiful new carpet, it was like “hey, that’s MY new purple carpet, put in there just for ME. It’s like me and the carpet were made for each other”
(Okay, it’s also totally possible that I was just a weird kid and needed more friends and it had nothing to do with my impressionable age. We’re not going to discuss my attachments to inanimate objects at age 27.)
But at any rate, my parents installed this ceiling fan in my room, and I was all like “hey, that ceiling fan is just for ME, it’s like the fan is my friend or something.”
And then my parents decided they didn’t like my ceiling fan and wanted to change it out. I tried to play it cool and was all like “no, that’s okay, I like the fan that’s there. Please don’t replace it.” But they were super insistent, and kept trying to get me to change my mind, and I was totally not going to betray my fan like that, thankyouverymuch. So then my mom decided to play dirty.
Mom: “Are you friends with the fan or something? Are you going to be sad it’s gone?”
Me, as defensively as possible: “NO! Of course not!”
Obviously I did not play my hand right, because she totally caught on to the fact that I was, in fact, a bit attached to the ceiling fan. Most parents might have taken this moment to not further torture their obviously emotionally strange daughter, but mine saw this as an opportunity.
Mom: “Does it have a name? You know what? We should call it Willy.”
Henry (in the voice of Willy): “Save me Caroline, save me! Don’t let them take me away!”
Me: Fine! Just take the lamp out! I don’t care AT ALL!
So they took the lamp out, and I did care. Especially when my stepfather, Henry, would casually remark in my presence that Willy must be really sad, sitting a dumpster and knowing that I betrayed him.
And guys – I felt really bad. For the lamp. And just to be spiteful I looked that new lamp in the eye(??) and made sure it knew that I would NOT be naming it and we were NOT going to have any kind of attachment here. But of course I didn’t say this out loud because lamps can’t speak and they communicate through telepathy. Duh.
And even now when I go home to visit, the old/new lamp will sometimes start to rattle and annoy me and I think “Willy would never have made this obnoxious sound while I’m trying to sleep.”
So yeah. My abilities to hold a grudge against inanimate objects are unparalleled. At least I win at something.