For the longest time when I was growing up I thought I was magical.
It wasn't just about thinking I could fly, or that Santa was real, or there actually were fairies that drank out of the bluebells at night while we slept . . . I believed I had gifted sight.
I saw colour.
I was pretty convinced that everyone else saw the world as black and white like the TV showed and so I was really sad for the rest of mankind ... pretty much from about 3 to age 8. I wept for them. I realized that colours for them was just names written on crayolas because in reality it was just varying shades of gray.
I lit candles for them.
I wrote letters to Santa, the Pope and Bewitched . . . just in case we were only being warned off witches because they really were the ones who could help us and Samantha seemed like a nice person, a little stupid, but nice. Then my brother was diagnosed as being colour blind and my grandmother said my grandfather was too. Evidently they confused red for green all the time which I find myself asking, as I type this, how the heck they ever held driver's licenses being as those two colours figure pretty prominently in the whole stop light little diddy thing that helps control intersections. I tested my grandmother ... she could tell the difference between red and green and when I slipped in a pink she even called it.
The whole world got together and pretended they could not see colour ... just to mess with me . . . and my therapist says I have a persecution complex. What else did they expect when everyone was out to get me like that?
I got it. I realized they could all see colour and I had wasted years of my life feeling sorry for them and all those prayers that could have been made out for more important things like could I please beat Colleen Jackson at skipping just once, or please make my brother get bucked off the horse and break his leg so that I could have his new boots.
I also realized that most of the kids in kindergarten really sucked at art ... I mean pink cows??? Come on, where were the docked marks for failing to grasp any sense of realism in the portrayal of barnyard animals? We lived on farms for crying out loud.
Yup, 8 years of age, the winter of my wakening. The year I left childhood misconceptions behind and became a hardened adult.
I realized that Samantha was not any kind of a real witch ... she was a lot older than I was and she had completely been sucked into the black and white conspiracy ... running around on TV in just black and white, albeit fashionable, outfits. I actually think she could have worn technicolour quite nicely .. she had good bone structure.
Yup 8 was when I woke up and poured myself a cup of black coffee and as I added half a sugar bowl of white sugar I laughed at the irony of it all. I knew I had to get the hell outta dodge as soon as the bus pulled up so I wrote the Partridge Family, sent them a demo tape and offered to marry Keith, even waiving the 8 cow premarital arrangement normally expected for farmer's daughters.
The bus should be here any minute.
EYES: IKON Destiny Eyes - Midnight
LASHES: Angel Rock Eyelash J curl Philisha Lashes
JEWELLERY: Artistry by E The Isabel
OUTFIT: SAS - FouFou (including sunglasses)
HAT: Baiastice_Rive gauche-black-hat
SHOES: SLink Sydney Stiletto
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