Checked all the 90s normcore boxes yesterday: denim button-down; sweater tied around the waist; black jeans. Where my Keds at?
Speaking of the 90s (greatest of all decades) C and I found a big box in the garage last night labeled “K’s Stuff” that was a treasure trove of my awkward adolescence. We’re talking diaries, photos developed from disposable cameras, middle school yearbooks, literary masterpieces I penned in elementary school, etc.
While I snort-laughed at my melodramatic diary entries, C found one of my early works of fiction: a short story about a girl named Alexandra that I’d formatted it into pages like a book, printed from the Macintosh in the school library, and illustrated.
C: “How old were you when you wrote this?”
K: “Third grade.”
C: “Wow, that’s really impressive. Where’s your grade? The teacher didn’t leave any notes…”
K: “Oh, I did it for fun!”
C: …
{Insert that ‘cool kids’ song right about here.}
What do you think?