But before we begin, I should probably tell you that I emerged from the womb not only able to speak, but with a 12th grade vocabulary and a grasp of grammar that would make any sixteen-year-old tremble with envy. It's true! Ask my mom.
Age 4:
Due to my vast knowledge, unfailing loyalty and boundless enthusiasm I see no reason why I shouldn't be elected president of the Smurf's fan club by the ripe old age of ten. I imagine my position as President will be quite lucrative, and should easily afford me the ability to purchase my dream home: a life-sized replica of Barbie's Dream House (painted pink, of course), complete with a high heel-shaped swimming pool in the back. To ward off loneliness, I plan to share this house with those who I love most: mommy, daddy, my dogs, my extensive My Little Pony collection, Mr. Rogers and his entire neighborhood, and an African elephant who I will cleverly name "Giraffe." Marriage is doubtful because boys are disgusting, but if I were to decide to enter into the institution it would either be with Ralph from The Muppets, or with my friend Anthony who owns a super cool, electric Big Wheel thingy, and also happens to be the only boy I know. Now give me a cookie, hand me my Strawberry Shortcake blanket and get the eff out of my room so I can take a nap already.
Age 9:
I'm pretty sure that at the rate I'm going I will win Olympic medals in synchronized swimming, the 100 meter dash and Connect Four - which I have every confidence will become a competitive event within the next ten years - and that I can accomplish all of this by the age of fifteen. The notoriety I will receive from my athletic prowess, coupled with the fame I have amassed as a world-famous marine biologist who moonlights as a soap opera actress, should be enough to win the eye of that really cute guy from 21 Jump Street. Once the two of us are married, we will immediately begin having children - four girls, just like in Little Women - and I will choose the most multisyllabic, flowery names I can find for each of them (Genevieve Felicity, or Brigitte Lily-of-the-Valley, for instance). The six of us will share a quiet, happy existence until really cute guy from 21 Jump Street dies suddenly and tragically in a shoot-out at one of the high schools where he works as an undercover officer busting drug dealers, date rapists, and SAT cheaters. Of course it will be sad, but seeing as I'm only 20 and life must go on I will then travel to London, where my tragic story will earn me an audience with the Queen of England. As I tell my tale of terrible woe, Prince William will have no choice but to fall madly in love with me. (It won't hurt that I plan on being very tall, very thin, and very gorgeous.) Our marriage will be quick, celebrated, and lavish, and together we will live out the remainder of our days being entertained by dancing monkeys and bumbling court-jesters as we sit on our thrones wearing our giant, jewel-encrusted crowns and dining on only the finest macaroni & cheese and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches in all of merry ole' England. But for all of this to come to fruition, I really need to get back to practicing Connect Four as I bone-up on British culture by singing along loudly and poorly to my Duran Duran and Bananarama tapes on my awesome new Walkman. So, if you please...
Age 13:
Future plan? What future?? I'm getting a B- in math, my social circle is straight out of Heathers (without Christian Slater and all the murder, obv.), and at this rate I'll never find a product that will make my hair okay! So sorry, but I simply can't be bothered to play your little game right now. See, Casey Kasem's Top 40 Countdown is on, and I really need to be paying attention because I have to tape that EMF song so I can angrily rollerskate to it in my basement while I wait for my breasts to grow.
(Still waiting, btw...)
Age 4:
Due to my vast knowledge, unfailing loyalty and boundless enthusiasm I see no reason why I shouldn't be elected president of the Smurf's fan club by the ripe old age of ten. I imagine my position as President will be quite lucrative, and should easily afford me the ability to purchase my dream home: a life-sized replica of Barbie's Dream House (painted pink, of course), complete with a high heel-shaped swimming pool in the back. To ward off loneliness, I plan to share this house with those who I love most: mommy, daddy, my dogs, my extensive My Little Pony collection, Mr. Rogers and his entire neighborhood, and an African elephant who I will cleverly name "Giraffe." Marriage is doubtful because boys are disgusting, but if I were to decide to enter into the institution it would either be with Ralph from The Muppets, or with my friend Anthony who owns a super cool, electric Big Wheel thingy, and also happens to be the only boy I know. Now give me a cookie, hand me my Strawberry Shortcake blanket and get the eff out of my room so I can take a nap already.
Age 9:
I'm pretty sure that at the rate I'm going I will win Olympic medals in synchronized swimming, the 100 meter dash and Connect Four - which I have every confidence will become a competitive event within the next ten years - and that I can accomplish all of this by the age of fifteen. The notoriety I will receive from my athletic prowess, coupled with the fame I have amassed as a world-famous marine biologist who moonlights as a soap opera actress, should be enough to win the eye of that really cute guy from 21 Jump Street. Once the two of us are married, we will immediately begin having children - four girls, just like in Little Women - and I will choose the most multisyllabic, flowery names I can find for each of them (Genevieve Felicity, or Brigitte Lily-of-the-Valley, for instance). The six of us will share a quiet, happy existence until really cute guy from 21 Jump Street dies suddenly and tragically in a shoot-out at one of the high schools where he works as an undercover officer busting drug dealers, date rapists, and SAT cheaters. Of course it will be sad, but seeing as I'm only 20 and life must go on I will then travel to London, where my tragic story will earn me an audience with the Queen of England. As I tell my tale of terrible woe, Prince William will have no choice but to fall madly in love with me. (It won't hurt that I plan on being very tall, very thin, and very gorgeous.) Our marriage will be quick, celebrated, and lavish, and together we will live out the remainder of our days being entertained by dancing monkeys and bumbling court-jesters as we sit on our thrones wearing our giant, jewel-encrusted crowns and dining on only the finest macaroni & cheese and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches in all of merry ole' England. But for all of this to come to fruition, I really need to get back to practicing Connect Four as I bone-up on British culture by singing along loudly and poorly to my Duran Duran and Bananarama tapes on my awesome new Walkman. So, if you please...
Age 13:
Future plan? What future?? I'm getting a B- in math, my social circle is straight out of Heathers (without Christian Slater and all the murder, obv.), and at this rate I'll never find a product that will make my hair okay! So sorry, but I simply can't be bothered to play your little game right now. See, Casey Kasem's Top 40 Countdown is on, and I really need to be paying attention because I have to tape that EMF song so I can angrily rollerskate to it in my basement while I wait for my breasts to grow.
(Still waiting, btw...)
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