I figure, this is a spot about me, right? So I should probably tell Ты a bit about myself. Except, I’m not a Фан of straight up facts. I’m not going to sit here and bore Ты by telling Ты what the weather was like the день I was born. So I think I’m gonna share a bit of myself with Ты in story form. Just little bits of memories I have. They won’t be in order and they won’t always be important. But all these memories have made me who I am. Read them или don’t, care или not, here we go.

One.

“I want that one.”

“The gray one sleeping in the corner?”

“No, the one Далее to him.”

“Her? She bites…”

“I want her.”

“Are Ты sure Ты don’t want another one?”

“I want her!”

The saleslady at Petsmart gave me a dubious look, but arguing with a very stubborn six год old never works out well. Instead, she turned to my parents.

“Better give her what she wants,” my mom сказал(-а) with a smile.

The lady – whose name I’ve long since forgotten – shrugged and went to get the guinea pig I’d pointed out.

My dad, who looked ten feet tall to me at the time, looked down at me. “Having a pet is a big responsibility. Ты have to feed it every день and change its cage. Are Ты sure you’re ready for that?”

“Daddy, I know.” That’s all he’d been telling me for the weeks before we went to pick out my guinea pig (even though what I’d really wanted was a puppy).

The woman returned, cupping a little orange, black, and white furball in her hands. The guinea pig’s eyes were wide, and the whites of them were Показ around the edges. Her head swung back and forth, up and down, fear and curiosity possessing her. Her whiskers quivered and her nose twitched. She was so delicate, so novel.

The Petsmart lady dumped the guinea pig in my hands.

“Her name is Daffodil,” I declared.

Daffodil promptly bit me.