You’d hardly recognize me if you knew me in fourth grade. I was awkward, didn’t know how to dress (umm helllo hand-me-down jorts from broseph), was entirely too nice for my own good, had those super-stylish straight across bangs, and thought I was really good at singing.
Kidding, that’s exactly who I am now, except that I know I can’t sing but I do it anyways, especially while shopping. (Mom: “Morgan, stop it – you’re embarrassing yourself.” Me: “Nope, I believe I am embarrassing yeeeewwww.”)
But let’s go back to fourth grade. Some background info: I’d just gotten my cat, Callie (and after the first night begged my mom to just take her back to the store because she wouldn’t shut up and I needed my damn beauty sleep). I had also just visited Disney World for the first time and came back plastered with temporary tattoos that remained on my body for quite some time because I was incredible at life and terrible at bathing, apparently. I had dreams that involved Billy Ray Cyrus serenading me from the bottom of the staircase, and in my sleeping-but-happy stupor, I may or may not have sleep-walked to the bottom only to realize that life is never that good. And because I was such a babe, I had no idea how to interact with boys. I know right – hard to believe that this guru on all things relationship-y (relationshitty? Sorry, ma) could have problems – but believe it. Continue reading