I want to be five again. Free, open and full of childlike love for life. Unmatched. Unbuttoned. Undone. Hair? Why brush it? Playroom? Why clean it? Bed? Why make it? It will all just get messy again. I wear polka dot pants with holes in them with a glittered stripe shirt, Halloween socks and shoes that light up called Twinkle Toes with a neon flower headband in my hair. Everyone thinks I am adorable.
If I don't want to say hi, I won't. If I don't want to be shy, I won't. Every time I'm asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I can change my answer depending on my mood.
I'm told to refer to my parents as "mom" and "dad". However, they are my chef for every meal. They are my driver wherever I need to go and my maid, especially if company is coming. It's just like being a rockstar. Yes a rockstar.
When I grow up, I will be a rockstar. It can't be much different than being five years old. Every time I turn around I'm being asked for my autograph on birthday cards, artwork and schoolwork. The paparazzi is everywhere; snapping photos with different cameras and different lenses, taking videos of all my firsts, seconds and thirds and sending them off in emails and texts.
I can listen and dance to Laurie Berkner and Dr. Jean anytime of the day and feel like I'm on top of the world. I'm so cool. I'm a rockstar and I'm five.
Oh but WAIT! I'm NOT five, I'm forty, and therefore, "Kindergarten SUCKS!"
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