I didn’t know that Thomas Edison and Thomas Jefferson were different people until eighth grade. One time, when I was little, I peed in a teacup. I still routinely mix up the three stooges, the three musketeers, and the three caballeros. I called a girl by her twin’s name for two years. I once walked into my sister’s room while she was giving her boyfriend a handjob. In second grade, I told my class that Jack Prelutsky’s The Dragons are Singing Tonight was “deep” poetry. My first kiss was with a girl who was also not a lesbian. I threw up on my fifth grade teacher. I obliviously recited “Welcome to loserville, population 1: me.” to my entire seventh grade class. They agreed. I cried in front of my English class senior year during my final presentation. I told my kindergarten teacher’s boyfriend that I didn’t expect him to be “a black.” I wholeheartedly believed I’d marry my high school sweetheart. I still kind of do.
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