So here’s how the story ended:
When my teacher tried to force the black hamster on me, I cried. So she relented, mostly because I was making her extremely uncomfortable, and let me have a beige one.
It died two days later.
Pretty sure the black one is still alive.
When I was in 5th grade, a kid in my class brought in about a dozen baby hamsters to give away to classmates who wanted them (a scenario that, as a teacher now, I can’t even believe was allowed to happen, but I digress)…
Of the roughly 12 hamsters, 11 were beige and 1 was black. I approached the hamster cage to make my choice (not having asked my parents permission to have a pet, just straight up assuming that because I wanted it, it shall be mine). I perused the choices and stated with authority, “I definitely think the beige ones are cuter.”
My teacher, who was a tyrant and certifiably batshit, got wide in the eyes and said, “That is extremely racist. You’re taking the black one.”
The black one had patches of fur missing. Its eyes were swollen shut. It had one ear.
My preference had nothing to do with color. Also, I was 10 years old. And it was A FUCKING HAMSTER.
Still. I never made that mistake again.
Guy: “Wait, your dad used to be Howard Stern’s lawyer?”
Me: “Yes.”
Guy: “So did you listen to Howard on the radio growing up?”
Me: “Actually, no. I never listened to his show. But my dad gave me his autographed copy of ‘Private Parts’ to read when I was 11. Then we went to go see the movie. Together. As a family.”
And now, 21 years later, I realize how fucking weird that was.
Remember that first time you saw a grown man’s penis? Remember how the sight of it caught you COMPLETELY off guard? And remember how it wasn’t just one penis, it was about 25 penises at once? Mere inches from your face? Flopping around to a catchy, upbeat musical jam? And you were 10?
Oh, ok, so your mother DIDN’T take you to see the Broadway musical Hair when you were in 5th grade.
Well. Lucky you.
Last night at dinner with my whole family, we discussed the various reactions to my post “I Should Fucking Curse Less.” My dad said it made him feel that he should have cursed less around the house when we were young. This made me think two things: 1) If that’s your takeaway, you missed the point entirely (classic Dad) and 2) That actually does remind me of a funny story that may or may not make you feel better:
I distinctly remember, at around age 10 or 11, being on the sidelines of my soccer game (on this particular state-champ team, I was almost always on the sidelines and not in the game because….well…I sucked.). It was a big, end-of-season game and we were tied. In the very last minute, the other team scored a goal, so I muttered (loudly) “God damnit!”
The father of another girl on my team was standing next to me and looked at me, horrified. “Excuse me?”
I looked back at him, genuinely thinking he wanted me to repeat myself, as I saw absolutely nothing wrong with what I had said. I looked him straight in the eye and said it louder, “I said ‘GOD DAMNIT.'”
“You better watch your mouth.”
“But…I did.” I replied, genuinely confused (after all, I had wanted to say “FUCK, we are SO FUCKED!”, but I kept it perfectly clean with “God damnit.”)
Again, he stared at me, clearly disgusted and assuming I had been raised by wolves. He walked away shaking his head.
That guy’s daughter went on to become a huge whore.
Emily's Posts 